


The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter

by Invieri



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, High-Fantasy Elements, Major character death - Freeform, Nobility, Original Character(s), Politics, School, War, Worldbuilding, medieval elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 502,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invieri/pseuds/Invieri
Summary: In a world larger and more complicated than anyone could expect, how will Harry Potter navigate and survive when raised by House Black – an Ancient and Noble family with a long and bloody history? Surrounded by powerful new players watch House Potter rise from the ashes of defeat and reclaim their place in the annals of history, by any means necessary.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Amelia Bones
Comments: 690
Kudos: 1460





	1. Arcturus I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following story contains realistic depictions of violence, torture, trauma, and mentions abuse of a sexual and physical nature. This is not a story for those under the age of eighteen, and has been rated appropriately.

* * *

Dedication:

I dedicate this work of fiction to my wonderful Beta, Rainbow.

It is because of you, and your endless patience that this story is at all possible.

You have been my idea soundboard, my conscience at times, and have become a good friend.

Here's to many more chapters and stories working together as the years go on.

* * *

The last decade had been pure and unfettered chaos. Witches and wizards had been slain by the hundreds – possibly even thousands; entire families erased from the fabric of society. The Muggle death toll had been immense and uncounted by the very world that had ended their lives.

It all started with the rise of a wizard, a wizard so feared and reviled that no one dared even speak his name.

He had come from nowhere and, almost overnight, had risen to the very pinnacle of power and authority, ruling over his followers with a fist of iron. It was feared that he had come to lay claim to an ancient Lordship long thought lost to the pages of history. Some had seen him as a saviour, there to lead them to the lands of milk and honey. Others saw him as a harbinger of the end times, a breaker of worlds, a destroyer.

Some, like Arcturus Black, believed him to simply be a charismatic and exceptionally powerful wizard.

Arcturus had never had the pleasure of crossing wands with any of the followers of the Dark Lord; for the last ten years, he had battled a vastly different adversary- his own health.

Arcturus was a warrior just as much as he was an able politician – he had been raised as his father’s heir and now held the title of Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, one of the most powerful families in Britain. They were as old as magic, it was said – with only a small handful of other families able to stand next to them as equals.

Despite all of this pedigree, however, it hadn’t allowed him to take a stance in the most recent conflict. He had been young and brash once, rushing off to war to face down Grindelwald and his followers, and as a result, he had returned with a body that was remarkably weaker than when he had left. War had cost him many things – and it had cost his family so much more.

To say that he had been upset upon learning just how many members of his own family had sided with the Dark Lord would have been a vast understatement. He had been furious – livid, even. House Black had many lines, and many allies through the various marriages between the houses – he could have brought the full might of all of that against _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_. Instead, in his absence, the family had splintered.

His own son, Orion, had publicly extolled the virtues of the Dark Lord’s cause with his wife, Walburga, at his side. It had staggered him, leaving him physically gasping for breath in his bed as his trembling hands had weakly held the paper before his eyes.

It hadn’t been long after that that he’d seen Orion’s name in the obituary – killed in an honour duel after Orion had spoken out against a wizard’s choice of wife.

That his own sister, Cassiopeia, hadn’t turned her only daughter from the path she had ended up on, worried him. Cassiopeia had been the middle child of his two siblings, and once, long ago, they had been as close as siblings could be. He had been the eldest, and the only male born to his parents – he had always tried to include Cassiopeia in everything he did, but their age gap often made things difficult.

He had been so proud when he’d gotten the letter that she’d been sorted into Slytherin – he knew she had ambitious dreams. She had often told him of how she wanted to change their society, to make it better – _stronger_. He wished he could have seen those early signs for what they truly were. What had happened to the small girl who had dreamed of a world where all were equal? When had she been replaced by the blood-purist who had graduated from Hogwarts, already pregnant with the bastard child of House Rosier? Thankfully, the two had married shortly after under the pressure of their father, Cygnus Black.

He hadn’t seen Cassiopeia in decades. She had retreated from the public eye shortly after her hastily planned and performed marriage to the father of her daughter; all-but exiled to a remote residence of House Black. There, she had given birth to and raised her daughter, Walburga. Walburga had been announced to the family through a letter, and even now, years later, he could remember the anger in which his father had reacted.

For years, they heard little, if anything from them. He hadn’t even known that Orion had been in contact with her until the two of them had married in secret. He had been disgusted with his son for marrying so close a relation. All of the powerful Pureblood families were related in one way or another – many were, of course, hundreds of years old.

The two had married when his illness had laid him low once more. Orion had been older than Walburga, and he should have known better – it was taboo, even in their society. Walburga had revelled in the reveal of their relations, quickly moving all of her belongings into Grimmauld Place in London – the property Orion had purchased after an explosive argument between himself and his son.

If there was one thing he was grateful to Walburga for, it was his grandchildren. In Sirius, he found nothing of the poisonous words of his parents. Instead, he was strong of heart, and had a firm belief in just how the world should be. He was loyal, intelligent and courageous. It had been no surprise that the lad had been sorted into Gryffindor.

That he had befriended James Potter, Arcturus’s nephew by his youngest sister Dorea, only made him happier. The two had become as close as brothers, and Arcturus had revelled in the occasional visits from his youngest sister and her husband – a man that he respected and admired a great deal.

Dorea had been the sweetest girl. She had a mischievous streak a mile long and a playful side that he loved to see bubble to the surface. When she had been born, Cassiopeia had been so happy to have a little sister of her own, though that happiness had turned bitter after the death of their mother. Arcturus, being older, had taken it upon himself to look after her as best he could.

He had doted on her the only way a nineteen-year-old man could, and within minutes, she had him wrapped around her little finger as she’d smiled toothlessly up at him and kicked her little legs. He’d been her hero growing up – his own little personal shadow.

She’d been so happy to have Sirius and James be friends, and there wasn’t a Black she was prouder of than Sirius. Sometimes he wondered just how she had been sorted into Slytherin rather than Gryffindor.

He had known Sirius had a less than ideal childhood – the beliefs of his parents were far too different from Sirius’s own for anything else to happen. He had stepped in where he could, using the Family Magic to protect Sirius as much as he was able, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough.

When Sirius had arrived via the Floo in his office bruised and bloody, with the House Elves doing what they could to heal his broken little body as he bled on the dark oak floorboards, Arcturus had been furious. He would have cast Orion and Walburga from the family then and there if it hadn’t meant that Sirius and Regulus would be cast with them.

Instead, he had quietly arranged with the Ministry for his heir to be declared as Sirius Orion Black, completely skipping his own son in favour of the kind, fun boy he had watched grow up. He made arrangements for Sirius to live with him at Blackwall and would have made arrangements for Regulus if Walburga hadn’t already had her claws in him. Regulus had been a sweet boy, if a little easily led around by the opinions of others. It hadn’t come as a surprise to hear that he had gone on to join the Dark Lord’s ranks.

When Sirius wasn’t with him at Blackwall, he was with Dorea and Charlus at Rosestone Castle in Wales. Arcturus had seen it once, at Dorea’s wedding. It was a beautiful fortress that sat on a small island just off of the coast and dominated the land around it. It was no wonder that House Potter was so powerful – in all of its long history, not once had the castle fallen.

House Potter had a reputation that was well-earned. As such, not only had he entrusted his favourite sister to a man that had quickly become a friend, but also his heir – if nothing else, Charlus would protect Sirius when he could not. If the Wards of Blackwall had been breached during the decade of chaos, he wouldn’t have been able to protect the future of his House.

And so, he had enjoyed the occasional visit from Sirius over the years, and the two had written to each other constantly – his pride for the boy had bolstered his spirits in his darkest hours, and each letter had brought with it more news of his and James’s exploits over the years. When Arcturus had been well enough to host Sirius and James himself, he had revelled in the sounds of childish glee as they rushed about the manor causing mischief.

The two had slowed down a little as the years wore on and the war became more intense – James had seemed almost a different man after the deaths of Charlus and Dorea. Even now, he mourned the loss of Dorea the most – no longer would he hear her laughter or be the subject of her witty retorts and quips over a cup of tea. His little sister was forever gone, and a part of him had left with her.

It had been the push he had needed to break through the worst of his illness, and over the next few years, his health had slowly improved – indeed, as he stormed through the Ministry of Magic in his armour, with his magic swirling around him, he felt every bit the warrior he had once been.

All around him, men and women scurried from his path as he marched the corridors toward the Wizengamot chamber. It was the early days of November, nineteen-eighty-one, and Sirius Black, his Heir, and the future Lord of House Black, was on trial for murder.

Arcturus had only been strong enough to stand on his own two feet without assistance a week ago, but now… now he felt he could take on all of Britain, and _win_. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for that kind, loving, brave boy that he had loved from the moment he had first met him.

Sirius Black was the future of his family, and he’d be _damned_ if he let him be shipped off to _Azkaban_.

He reached the large doors of the Wizengamot Chamber and slammed them open with a gesture of his hand, using such force that the doors bounced violently off of the walls they hit. A collection of gasps and cries of shock reverberated throughout the chamber as all the eyes turned to look at him.

“Where is he?” He demanded, his voice low and growling. His magic swirled around him in a maelstrom of barely contained power. His Heir needed him – his _boy_ needed him.

“Arcturus!”

“It’s Arcturus Black!”

“The coward dares to show his face _here_?”

Arcturus’s eyes swept the assembly, taking in the familiar tiered seating of the various families. Hundreds of heads stared at him in surprise. It was to be expected – he hadn’t been seen in public for over ten years. Many had even speculated that he had died.

“Arcturus – I’m glad to see you in such fine health.”

Dumbledore smiled from across the room. His white beard was a little longer than Arcturus remembered it, and it seemed the powerful wizard had taken to cinching it halfway down with a neat tie. His sparkling blue eyes briefly took him back to his Hogwarts years, where he’d looked upon the man as he taught Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“Chief Warlock, a pleasure, as always,” Arcturus replied, bowing his head politely.

“What are you doing here, Arcturus?” the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement demanded – Bartemius Crouch, Senior. The grasping weasel of a man had such a deluded sense of self-importance, he’d even named his own son after him.

“You will address me by my title, Bartemius,” Arcturus snapped, his scowl returning as he took the man in. He was dressed head to foot in the most recent Ministerial robes – they were a plain black and seemed to swallow the man whole with their cumbersome, baggy sleeves, and the ridiculous hat.

He watched as the pencil-thin moustache on Bartemius’s top lip twitched in what looked suspiciously like a sneer. “I ask again, _Lord Black_ , what do you think you are doing here?”

“I’m here for the Heir to House Black – I’ve been told he’s in your custody, accused of _murder_ , of all things,” he replied, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His magic continued to swirl around him as his anger returned to the surface.

“You are intruding on a trial in which you were not invited,” Crouch snapped, his nasally voice echoing around the chamber.

“I am a Lord of the Wizengamot, you _fool_ – if you decide to have a trial before this body, I have a right to attend!” Arcturus roared in response, and his right hand flexed involuntarily for his wand. To draw it in these chambers was to commit suicide, however. No less than three dozen Aurors stood guard at all times.

“That Sirius isn’t present at his own trial proves how much of a farce this whole thing is.”

“Lord Black, if you would take your seat in the chamber, we could begin – though, it truly does sadden me to inform you that the evidence is quite damning,” Minister Bagnold said from atop her podium, her voice dripping with false sincerity.

“Careful, Bagnold – don’t forget who you’re speaking to,” Arcturus replied, his eyes narrowing as he took in her face. Millicent Bagnold may have been an attractive woman once, but time had not been her ally – where he imagined had once been smooth skin on a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, there were pudgy, pockmarked skin that had an unhealthy sheen to it – the kind that only came of a gluttonous lifestyle.

“You _dare_ speak to the Minister in that way?” the Speaker for the Wizengamot demanded, leaping to his feet as he scowled at him. Arcturus swept his eyes over the man quickly – he was the attractive sort, he supposed. Broad shouldered and tall with short, neatly combed hair and the fine robes of the Ministry to denote his position.

“Careful who you’re speaking to, _boy_ ,” Arcturus growled, taking a step closer to the Speaker’s box. It seemed all bravado fled the Speaker as he stumbled backwards at his approach and fell into his heavily padded chair with a huff.

“Arcturus – perhaps if you took your seat, we may be able to move on to the trial and ascertain the truth of these charges, hm?” Dumbledore called over the murmurings of the chamber. Above him, the flashes of cameras briefly lit up the chamber as reporters snapped what pictures they could.

He glanced up to the balcony that was reserved for the press and scowled at them – they were the parasites of society, always looking for the next big story to latch on to and spin in whichever way pleased them the most. There were the occasional members of the press that strove for the truth, but their voices often got drowned out by the sensationalists that seemed to make up the majority.

Looking away from the journalists above him, his eyes briefly glanced at the slightly lower balcony reserved for the Heirs to the Houses that formed the Wizengamot. For a second, he thought he saw James and Sirius up there, whispering and laughing with one another over a comment. He blinked and the image was gone, and he nodded at the Chief Warlock.

He turned on his heel and marched up the marble steps to the ancestral seat of House Black. It was on the highest row of the tiered seating with the other Ancient and Most Noble Houses, such as House Bones and House Longbottom.

Unable to stop himself, his eyes found the empty Longbottom seat and his heart felt heavy at yet another loss. He’d only ever heard good things about the recent Lord of House Longbottom. Arcturus had known his father and mother quite well – Rupert had been a good friend, and Augusta had such a sharp, witty tongue that he had genuinely struggled to keep up at times. How she had been born into House Rosier was a mystery.

When he arrived at the booth of House Black, which sat in pride of place just off-centre of the half-circular back wall, he quickly sat down on the well cushioned, Mithril-framed throne. He took a brief moment, as he always did, to admire the snake engravings that decorated it. He always felt pride when he looked upon the silver serpent of his house.

The moment he reclined in the chair, the fingers of his right hand gently drumming on the arm while the elbow of his left arm was perched on the arm of the chair, the heavy doors he had blown open were shut with a loud thud that echoed all the way up into the high, vaulted ceiling.

It seemed, besides the families that had been completely wiped out from the war – both Ancient and Noble alike, all members of the Wizengamot were in attendance. His heart broke at the dozens of empty thrones, all to forever remain unfilled until a cadet branch of the family, or a distant relation could be found. Some, like House Gryffindor and House Slytherin – even House Peverell, would remain empty until the end-times.

Arcturus glanced over at the Potter Throne a little further along the row. It was the most simple and unassuming of all the seats of power – it was made of pure Mithril and the only decorations were the dual prowling wolves that made up the armrests. He’d seen the reports over the last ten years. He knew just how precarious the position of House Potter had become – one of the oldest and most powerful Houses, hunted into almost extinction, with a boy of not even two years as the sole surviving member.

The Speaker smashed his gavel and the murmurings of the chamber ended instantly. Arcturus found his eyes trailing over to the man.

“The doors have been sealed – the trial of Sirius Black, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is to begin. Let the record show that the date is November fifth, of the year nineteen-eighty-one, and the time is two-thirty in the afternoon.”

The Speaker paused as he glanced at the Wizengamot scribe, who sat just below the Minister and was busy furiously scribbling away.

“The trial will be presided over by the Minister of Magic, Minister Bagnold, and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch, Senior.”

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot,” Bagnold began, standing and sweeping her eyes across the assembly. Arcturus had to fight the urge to sneer as their eyes momentarily locked.

“It is my privilege to preside over the coming trial and guide you all in the matters of the law. I ask that you form your opinions based on the evidence, and the evidence alone. When both sides have presented their cases, I will call for a vote.”

Arcturus watched as she sat down, a smug smile on her face as she nodded at Crouch a little below her. With a quick double-tap of his own gavel, called out, “The Prosecution and the Defence will now present themselves to the Court.”

A woman in fine robes stood from the Ministry employee section of the chamber – it was a section of tiered seating reserved solely for those that were in such a high position within the government, that they were allowed to weigh in on matters – these generally tended to be Department Heads, but a good chunk were the usual lickspittles and opportunistic fools.

“Honoured Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I present myself before you all as the assigned Prosecutor on behalf of the Ministry of Magic. My name is Kate Young. It is my desire to make sure justice is met and the guilty is justly punished. Across from me, you will find my learned colleague, Natalia Daxer, speaking on behalf of the Defence.”

“My Lords, my Ladies,” The rich voice of Lucius Malfoy interrupted, calling out as he stood up from his seat on the far left of the room. Arcturus glared down at the man and found his lip curling in distaste. House Malfoy had been a political nightmare ever since the cadet branch had decided to settle in England. The main line in France was pleasant enough to deal with – indeed, House Black had a number of trade agreements with them – but _this_ branch of the family…

“I propose we move straight to a verdict. The accused was caught by our most elite Aurors and has confessed to his crimes without the need for Veritaserum – his guilt is already plain to see.”

Arcturus frowned. Sirius had confessed? That couldn’t have been right.

Murmuring broke out throughout the room, and Arcturus saw Millicent and Bartemius nod at one another out of the corner of his eye. He stood and stepped to the railing of his box; his hands gripped the metal so tightly, he thought he could hear the metal groan beneath him.

“My Lords! If this is to be a _true_ form of justice, I demand to hear from the lips of the accused himself. I demand the presence of the accused at this trial.”

The room was silent as every pair of eyes were levelled upon him.

“I second the motion,” Archibald Locke called, standing from his throne, shaped like the great bear that was their sigil – its piercing, metal eyes staring down into the chamber. “I worked with Sirius during the war – I’d like to hear his confession from his own lips.”

“Aye – House Weasley would have the truth of it!” Thomas called out, getting to his own feet.

“House Patil demands the truth,” Ashok Patil called from the assembly of Noble Lords beneath him. The Patils were a recent addition to the Wizengamot, having arrived in the last decade from India and brought some of their wealth with them. There were a number of rumours about the family, of course – some claimed they had been exiled for an attempted coup on another family, while others claimed they were a cadet branch of a much larger family. Either way, they had brought enough wealth and allies with them to purchase enough land and influence to gain themselves a seat on the council.

More and more voices called out their agreements, and Arcturus watched as Lucius sat down with a frown.

“Very well – the motion to have the accused before the court is carried,” Dumbledore called, his powerful voice silencing the entire chamber. “Bring forth the accused.”

Arcturus’s eyes leapt to the floor and the large circle engraved in the marble. It wasn’t easily discernible when you stood before the Wizengamot, but from above, it was clear to see. It sank into the floor by almost a foot, and a small cloud of dust rose from the edge as it moved, wafting away on the gentle current that flowed through the room. The circle split down the centre and opened as a platform was raised slowly.

The platform was plain by design – a dull, roughly hewn granite on which a simple wooden chair with runes gouged deeply into its surface sat. Chains wrapped around the slumped figure in the chair and rattled quietly. He felt his knees almost give out.

The platform spun slowly as it rose, giving everyone in the chamber a good look at the accused. Sirius had never looked in such a poor way. His clothes were torn and there was dried blood over much of it – what he knew were once clean, expensive clothes were ripped and little more than rags. Sirius’s usually full, thick head of hair was limp and greasy, while his skin looked pale and sunken.

What had happened to his boy?

Arcturus felt his magic stir, and somewhere in the room, someone yelled before something exploded in a shower of splinters. Arcturus didn’t care, though – his eyes were trained solely on the battered and bruised man before him. What had they done to him? His eyes lifted to glare at Bagnold and Crouch, who were whispering furiously to one another.

“Sirius – what _happened_?” Dumbledore moaned; his eyes wide as he stood slowly. The hushed whispers of the assembly quietly rumbling at the sight.

Sirius didn’t respond.

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot,” Kate Young called, stepping fully before the assembly. “Sirius Orion Black, son of Orion Black, and Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is brought before this august body today on a number of damning charges.”

Arcturus watched as he slowly sank into his chair, as Kate Young unrolled a piece of parchment.

“Sirius Black is accused of thirteen counts of murder – twelve Muggles and one Peter Pettigrew, a wizard. He is also accused of leading _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ directly to James and Lily Potter.”

Arcturus watched as a number of heads slowly nodded. To think that James Potter was _dead_ … It was almost as unthinkable as Sirius being the murderer – anyone that knew the two boys would have been able to verify just how close they were.

“There are a number of pieces of evidence. We have testimony from a number of esteemed wizards and witches, as well as a confession from the man himself – obtained without the use of Veritaserum. It is my job today to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that this man is guilty and should be sentenced to life in our most secure prison – _Azkaban_.”

Arcturus felt his jaw clench at the thought of that awful penal colony. While the Ministry owned and operated dozens of prisons throughout Britain, _Azkaban_ was by far the worst. Located in the North Sea on a small island sixty miles from the coast of the Scottish border, it was originally a fortress of a fallen wizard some centuries before. Now, it was a prison guarded and patrolled by the last remnant of its previous lord’s twisted experiments: Dementors.

Dementors were foul creatures. They were aspects of magic that had been twisted and corrupted into something truly sinister. They fed on human emotions, draining their victims of emotion and memory until they were trapped within their own minds with their worst memories.

Some fates were worse than death.

“I would call my first witness to the stand – one Auror Amelia Bones,” the Prosecutor called. Arcturus glanced to the Bones seat and watched as the attractive young woman stood with all the composure and grace he would have expected. That she sat in the seat of House Bones as one of only two surviving members of her House broke his heart – another House laid low by the damned war.

He watched as Amelia walked down the stairs to the main floor and climbed into the witness stand. Her face remained unreadable, but there was a tension about her – evidently, she had expected to be called, but wasn’t comfortable with it.

“Amelia Bones, you are sworn by magic to tell the truth in this courtroom. You are an Auror, are you not?”

“I am,” Amelia replied. Something stirred at the back of Arcturus’s memory – why did he know the name of this woman?

“You were one of the arresting Aurors when the accused was brought in, correct?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“Could you describe to the court just what you witnessed upon arriving at the scene?” Kate asked. Arcturus sat forward a little – for all of his network of informants spread throughout the Ministry, there had been extraordinarily little information available on just _how_ Sirius had been arrested.

“We were alerted to a duel taking place in the middle of Eton Avenue in Wembley at eleven-hundred-hours on November the second, nineteen-eighty-one. It was a Monday, and the weather was clear for the most part.” Amelia glanced up at Sirius mournfully and took a deep breath.

“We came across the accused duelling one Peter Pettigrew in a Muggle residential area. The casualties were the results of homes being reduced to rubble from powerful curses.”

The assembly murmured among themselves and Arcturus frowned as he rubbed his chin.

“Upon the arrival of the Aurors, Peter Pettigrew began retreating towards us and shouted toward Sirius – sorry, _the accused_. The accused shouted something, and then there was an explosion that created a crater four feet deep where Pettigrew had been standing. We only recovered his finger.”

Amelia sighed and looked back to Sirius.

“When we had all recovered, we found Sirius on his knees laughing – he wouldn’t stop, and just kept repeating, ‘ _I killed them_ ’.”

“Thank you, Auror Bones. Could you tell the court your relationship with the accused?”

Amelia scowled at the Prosecutor.

“I don’t see how that’s the business of the court.”

“I’ll allow it as long as it leads to a relevant question – answer the question, Auror Bones,” Bagnold called over the quiet rumble of voices.

“We were courting. I loved him, and he loved me,” Amelia replied with a look of barely restrained fury.

It all came back to him in that moment – Sirius had written to him of a girl from Hogwarts that he had taken a liking to. He’d asked permission to court her, and he had given his blessing – that she was from a powerful family like House Bones was a surprise. Sirius had only ever mentioned her by her first name. He’d assumed, wrongly, that the girl had been a Muggle-born or a Half-Blood.

The chamber erupted in noise – Lords and Ladies of the various Noble Families were yelling question after question over one another and making impossible demands. Arcturus remained in his seat and leaned back. He interlaced his hands before his face and pursed his lips in thought. There were too many holes in Amelia’s story for him to be happy with, though he understood how it appeared. No doubt the Prosecution thought the evidence damning enough.

“Silence!” Albus shouted over the din, his wand pressed to the side of his neck as the _Sonorous_ Charm projected his voice loudly throughout the assembly. Once the room fell silent once again, the aged wizard removed his wand from his throat, though his voice was every bit as powerful as it had been.

“We are here to determine the guilt of the accused – _not_ to descend into anarchy within these hallowed halls. Any member of this body that speaks out of turn again will be ejected – is that understood? Excellent – Prosecutor, you may continue.”

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” Kate replied, bowing a little at the waist.

“Auror Bones, would you say that Sirius Black is capable of killing?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“So you admit that he can kill. In his duel with the recently deceased Peter Pettigrew, do you happen to recall how Sirius Black looked? How he acted?” The Prosecutor said, cutting off any further comment from Amelia.

Amelia scowled, but sighed deeply.

“He seemed livid – I’ve never seen him so angry and reckless.”

“That will be all from me.”

Arcturus watched as Kate backed away to stand by the side of the floor where the witch acting as Sirius’s defence was. Arcturus grimaced at how the slightly older woman struggled to balance the many sheets and rolls of parchment in her hands before she handed them off to an assistant.

“My Lords, my Ladies – Auror Bones,” Natalia said with a polite inclination of her head.

“Auror Bones,” She began, turning to face the witness. “How many years were you and Sirius Black involved?”

“He approached me in my fifth year of Hogwarts – we’ve been involved ever since then,” Amelia replied calmly. Arcturus pursed his lips as he watched the proceedings like a hawk.

“So you would say that you knew him rather well. Tell me, did his actions seem out of character at all?”

“I’ve seen him angry before, but never like that. I can’t see him attacking Peter like that, either – I knew the man briefly through Sirius. They always seemed to get on.”

“And would you believe him to have led the Dark Lord to James and Lily Potter?”

“I can’t, no. They were like brothers – anyone that knew them could tell you that.”

“Thank you – could you tell me what kind of spells were being exchanged? I believe as an Auror you would have some insight, no?” Natalia asked, folding her hands calmly before her.

“It was hard to tell from my position, but they looked like powerful blasting curses, which would make sense with the damage we found at the scene.”

“Did you ever see any hint of animosity between the accused and the deceased Peter Pettigrew?”

“I didn’t,” Amelia said, shaking her head slowly. “They were close friends throughout Hogwarts. I saw Peter just the week before laughing with Sirius.”

“Thank you – that will be all for now,” Natalia said, returning to the side of the floor where her assistant stood with armfuls of notes and parchment.

“Thank you, Auror Bones – you may return to your seat,” Dumbledore said with a small nod. Arcturus watched as Amelia nodded her thanks and hurried up the stairs quickly to retake the Bones seat.

Kate stepped forward, this time calling for Alastor Moody. The gruff, disfigured wizard limped forward, his prosthetic leg clunking against the stone as he leaned on his thick, wooden staff.

Arcturus leaned forward; his eyes wide at the state of the man he hadn’t seen in over a decade. He’d dealt with Alastor Moody a number of times over the years and found him to be a refreshing change of pace to the usual witch or wizard he met.

The man was a legend – he had fought in the war against Grindelwald, straight from the Auror Academy and had lost his leg. He hadn’t let that slow him down, however, and once he had returned to his active duties, the man had put criminal after criminal away.

The Prosecutor moved to stand before the grizzled Auror, and while Arcturus was watching Alastor look directly at her, he couldn’t help but shiver slightly as the magical prosthetic eye moved independently and lingered in his direction.

“I shall remind you, Auror Moody, you are under oath to provide the truth in this courtroom.”

“Aye missy, I know,” Alastor grunted as he adjusted his large leather coat. “This isn’t my first experience in the docket.”

“Quite,” Kate replied. “Auror Moody, you were the Senior Auror assigned to Auror Bones’ squad, yes?”

“Aye.”

“Could you tell the court a little about what you saw?”

“Alright. We arrived in the street just as Auror Bones described it to ye’. Sirius and Peter were engaged in a duel, and Peter appeared to be on the losing side of it. When he saw us, he began backing toward us and he shouted something to Sirius – not sure what. It all got lost in the confusion and the sounds around us.”

Arcturus watched as Alastor glanced up at Sirius for a moment with his real eye and sniffed.

“Sirius shouted something back and looked a little panicked. Next thing I know, there’s a crater so deep the sewer pipes were blown wide open and there was smoke everywhere. I was the first to come across Sirius on his knees with his wand by his side.”

“And what was the accused doing when you came upon him?”

“Laughing, mostly,” Alastor shrugged. “He was cryin’ too, come to think of it.”

“Did he say anything in particular while in this state?”

“Just that it was his fault. It was clear he was in some kind of shock, though – I put it in my report and the Healers corroborated it.”

“Indeed – thank you, Auror Moody.”

Alastor inclined his head a little and watched as the Healer retreated to the side of the room. Even from where Arcturus was sat, he could see the satisfied, smug smile on her face.

“Auror Moody, can I just begin by saying that I think I can speak on behalf of all of us here in thanking you for your upstanding track record,” Natalia began, clasping her hands behind her back as she slowly began to pace the floor.

“Think nothin’ of it, missy.”

“Can you tell me what your relationship with the accused is?”

“Aye – I trained him to fight. Him and James Potter both.”

“Would you say you taught him to kill?”

“I did,” Alastor confirmed, frowning.

“Would the accused use lethal force if he was simply trying to subdue an opponent?”

“That would depend on the opponent and a number of extenuating circumstances,” Alastor replied slowly as he leaned back in his seat. “If the opponent were using lethal force themselves, Sirius would respond in-kind. If he wanted the target alive, he would incapacitate and then secure them by any means.”

“What spells did the examination of Sirius Black’s wand reveal, Auror Moody?”

“Blasting Curses, Cutting Curses, Shield’s and Stunners.”

“What would you deduce, from these spells, was the intention of the accused?”

“Sirius wasn’t trying to kill Pettigrew – if he wanted the man dead, Sirius wouldn’t have allowed the fight to go on for so long. Sirius Black is a powerful wizard – much more powerful than what I know of Pettigrew.”

“Thank you, Auror Moody – you may return to your seat. I have no further questions for the witness,” Natalia said with a slight inclination of her head.

Arcturus pursed his lips as he ran a finger back and forth over his chin; the short hair lightly scratching the skin. That the Prosecution hadn’t made mention of Sirius’s wand so far had been interesting. If what Alastor claimed was true of how Sirius fought, and he had no reason not to believe him, Sirius would have ended the fight with a much more powerful and lethal set of spells.

His mind whirled a mile a minute, working through all the different nuggets of information that had come to light through the trial so far, and he could begin to see a picture forming slowly in his mind.

Even he had to admit, the evidence was fairly damning against his grandson, but it seemed circumstantial so far. There was something missing – some key thing that would make it all make sense. He knew in his heart that Sirius was innocent. The boy he knew would never have fallen for the Pureblood propaganda that had been espoused over the last decade. He was smarter than that.

Besides himself and Amelia, James was the most important person in Sirius’s life. The two had done absolutely everything together since they were boys – he’d even told him of how proud he was to be named young Harry’s godfather. Sirius had spoiled the baby rotten, he knew.

“As my learned colleague has mentioned, I would now present to you all Sirius Black’s wand.” The Prosecutor announced, snapping Arcturus from his thoughts. He looked down at her and saw the thin piece of wood held above her head as she paraded it before the assembly.

Arcturus knew it well – he’d been with Sirius when he’d bought it from Ollivanders. It was eleven inches of the finest Yew wood, with a core of Coy-Oh-Tay whisker. It had always struck Arcturus as an elegant wand in its design. While most wizards and witches preferred a handle of some sort, Sirius’s didn’t have one. Instead, it had a twisting design carved out of its unusually straight length, with powerful runic symbols along the grip.

“I have invited Garrick Ollivander here today, my Lords, as his experience with wands is unchallenged,” Kate continued, inclining her head at the wild-haired wizard who stepped onto the central floor.

Arcturus watched as Ollivander -- not to be confused with his older brother, the Lord Bertrand Ollivander, though the two looked almost identical – gently grasped the wand and began turning it over in his hands.

Whatever was on the face of the wizened old man was lost to him as Garrick kept his back to him – whatever he was doing seemed to be making the Prosecutor a little nervous, which interested him _greatly_. He sat forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees.

When Garrick revealed his own wand and began chanting quietly in the silence of the chamber, Arcturus wasn’t surprised. There was little that the Ollivanders didn’t know about wands – if there were any secrets to be gleaned from the wand, Garrick would find it.

“This wand has cast no dark curses and remains entirely loyal to its wizard,” Garrick announced after the chanting had subsided. His voice was scratchy, yet gentle – it was a contradiction that had always baffled him.

“It is an eleven-inch Yew wand, with a core of Coy-Oh-Tay whisker – I remember selling this very wand some years ago. I have no doubt in my mind that this wand belongs to Sirius Black.”

“I’m sure the court would like to hear your confirmation that the last spell fired was the one that killed Peter Pettigrew, Mister Ollivander,” Kate said, for the first time, her voice was uncertain.

Arcturus almost laughed – she didn’t know! She hadn’t spent the time checking it – had nobody checked the wand thoroughly in the days since Sirius was arrested? While he had thought it ridiculous to have Sirius on trial only days after he had been caught, it was becoming clearer that many had expected the farce to have gone smoothly. Too many had simply taken the facts at face-value – this was how Sirius would be acquitted!

Garrick chanted something else under his breath and waved his wand over Sirius’s in a complicated pattern before a series of burning runes appeared, shimmering in the air a little above it.

“The last spell was a _Stupefy_ , Madame Prosecutor. The runic configuration of the spell is clear to see, as is the Arithmancy.”

“I… have no more questions, Mister Ollivander,” Kate murmured quietly; her voice soft. While she practically whispered the words, they carried well enough in the chamber and all of a sudden – warning from Dumbledore or not – the quiet whispers of the Lords rumbled through the room. Arcturus grinned as he watched the prosecutor walk dumbly back to her position.

If Kate Young looked stunned and thrown off, Natalia Daxer looked like the fox that had gotten into the chicken coop.

“Mister Ollivander, could you explain the significance of the wand you are holding?” She asked, pacing slowly around the chamber.

“Of course. The Coy-Oh-Tay is a breed of Coyote from the mountainous regions of Central America. It’s known to be tricky to spot and they are devilishly intelligent. In all my years of wand-crafting, I’ve only been able to obtain the one whisker, I’m afraid,” Garrick replied evenly, idly turning the wand over in his hands.

“I find it to be quite the fascinating core. Much like the creature it comes from, the whisker has a penchant for being placed in wands that go to mischievous spell-casters. It should be known, however, that it prizes loyalty above all else – it would refuse to work for a traitor of any kind.”

Arcturus grinned as the chamber began to murmur once again.

“So, you’re telling us that if Sirius Black had been unfaithful in his loyalty to James Potter, the wand wouldn’t be loyal to him?”

“Yes, that is what I’m saying.”

“And can you confirm that the wand is indeed loyal to Sirius Black?”

“It is,” Garrick affirmed.

The whispers grew in volume around the chamber, and Arcturus cast his eyes to the Prosecutor. Her face had lost all colour, and she was looking between the wand, Minister Bagnold, and Crouch with a panicked look – the two Ministry officials looked positively livid.

It was no secret that Crouch coveted the position of Minister, and Bagnold was a smart enough woman to keep him close. If Sirius were to be declared innocent after all the accusations had been made from both of their offices, it would be the end of their careers.

Not a single member of any of the Noble families would support a man and woman that had tried to steamroll a trial on one of their own, regardless of political and financial alliances. The lack of due diligence and the general attitude the Ministry showed this trial were enough to set a precedent no family wanted.

It was no secret that Bagnold had assumed so much political power over the years by catering to the Half-Bloods and the Muggle-born, promising to bridge the social divides. They followed her almost religiously in the beginning – she had been a charismatic woman, one that had risen from a poor Half-Blood family and ascended to the top of society in Britain.

The reality was a little different. As loathe as he was to admit it, the Ministry and the Wizengamot were often rife with corruption. Wizards and witches like the Malfoys, Parkinsons, and the Dondarrions flaunted their wealth and paid off officials every other week – little had changed in the decade he had been away.

Bagnold was one such official – her biggest _benefactor_ being House Dondarrion.

That wasn’t to say that she was a puppet of that family. Her stance against the Dark Lord throughout his war was enough to show that. More than one member from House Dondarrion and the other bigoted families had been outed as a follower, caught by well-trained squads of powerful Aurors. Some had been killed in battle, others captured and brought before the Wizengamot.

Most had ended up in Azkaban, sentenced by the formidable duo of Bagnold and Crouch. Others had claimed the _Imperius_ , such as Lucius Malfoy. The _Daily Prophet_ had made sure to print detailed accounts of every _Death Eater_ ’s trial and their sentences throughout the war. Each day, as he had lain in bed, he’d checked the obituary columns, praying not to see Sirius’s name among them.

The banging gavel of Dumbledore was enough to silence the noise.

“Thank you, Mister Ollivander – your expertise has been eye-opening,” Natalia smiled. Instead of moving to the side of the room as she was expected, she turned to Dumbledore, and Arcturus couldn’t help but lean forward in his seat anxiously.

“Chief Warlock, I understand that it is against the norm, but I humbly request to bring forth my own evidence and witness.”

“While unusual, I’ll allow it,” Dumbledore replied, leaning back in his chair with a nod.

Arcturus watched as Natalia gestured to her assistant, who quickly moved toward her and fished something out of a small bag. What it was exactly, Arcturus couldn’t tell, but it appeared to be a necklace of some kind, made of the most brilliant Mithril.

The closest to the floor gasped as the Defence held it aloft and circled the floor.

“My Lords, my Ladies, I present to you a _Blood Locket_.”

He couldn’t help it – he leapt to his feet and gripped the railing before him. A _Blood Locket_ was a powerful piece of magic – arguably more powerful than an _Unbreakable Vow_. An _Unbreakable Vow_ would kill you outright if one were to go against it – a _Blood Locket_ would _destroy_ you.

It was a complicated ritual and could only be completed on certain days in the year. The House of Black had many books on it, as they did with many different subjects – both light and dark. It was rumoured that the first had been created by _Merlin_ and _Morgana_ themselves.

“This particular piece of evidence belongs to Sirius Black and James Potter – as the court can clearly see, Sirius Black is alive.”

“How do we know that it is linked to Sirius Black?” Bagnold demanded from her chair, an ugly scowl on her face.

“Ah, forgive me, Minister,” Natalia replied, quickly pulling out her wand and muttering an incantation.

Immediately, a red mist rose from the dangling chain into the air above the Defence. Arcturus watched with wide eyes as it coalesced into a younger Sirius and James. The shadowy, red-tinged figures stood opposite one another in a darkened room, grinning at each other excitedly.

Sirius drew his wand and cut his palm with a quick swipe, with James following shortly after. The two clasped hands and began the chant. He knew the ritual well – their blood would mix and join together, and from that union, the necklace would be formed – as would its twin.

He watched as the blood slowly seeped out between their joined hands and the magic around them ruffled their hair and clothes, sweeping the two of them up in a cyclone of energy. The blood rose into the air above their hands and morphed into a churning ball of liquid, stretching, and thinning itself out until a pair of necklaces formed.

It was beautiful to witness, and Arcturus found his throat tight.

The scene ended and the mist descended into the necklace once more, and the room remained utterly silent – not even the reporters, or the members of the public in the galleys above them breathed a word.

“Chief Warlock, in light of this, I request to bring Sirius Black to the stand for questioning.”

Arcturus’s eyes flittered to the Chief Warlock, and found the old man still staring at the space where the image had been with an odd look on his face. Dumbledore stirred after a moment, and visibly shook himself before nodding tiredly.

“Permission granted,” he sighed, running his hands down his face.

The grinding of the stone plinth that held Sirius’s chair slowly began to descend. The scraping of the stone echoed off of the marble walls, and Arcturus found himself wincing the longer it carried on. There was a gentle boom as it came to a stop – Sirius still slumped over in the wooden chair with all the chains.

“Can you confirm that you are, indeed, Sirius Black?” Natalia began, a smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth.

Sirius stirred a little and sat up slowly, the rattling of the chains as they clanked against themselves and the wood. Even from here, Arcturus could see just how pale and gaunt he looked – what had happened to him in the time he’d been arrested?

“I am,” Sirius croaked, his voice quiet and scratchy in the quiet room. Arcturus had remained standing, gripping the railing before him in an iron grip as he fought the urge to rush down the steps to his grandson.

“Can you confirm that this is your _Blood Locket_?” Natalia asked, holding the locket up once more for the assembly.

“It is.”

“And can you confirm this is your wand?” Natalia asked, holding the wand before her in her other hand – Arcturus hadn’t even seen her move to get it, so focused was he on the man in the chair.

Sirius closed his eyes and breathed in slowly and nodded. “It is.”

“Can you explain the nature of your relationship with James Potter to the rest of the court?”

Sirius looked pained at the mention of the young man’s name, and his head slumped forward as his shoulders shook.

“He was my brother,” he moaned pitifully. “He was my brother, and now he’s dead.”

“When did the two of you complete the ritual that the court has witnessed?”

“We were in our final year at Hogwarts,” Sirius replied with a quiet moan. “The war was escalating, and I knew how my family had splintered…”

“Take your time,” Natalia offered gently; her voice soft. If nothing else came of this trial, Arcturus was going to make sure to secure Natalia’s services for the family – the woman had performed flawlessly throughout the proceedings.

“James and Charlus helped to raise me. They gave me a home when Arcturus couldn’t. I owed them _everything_. I was loyal to _him_. Nobody else.”

“Can you explain the events, as you understand them, that led to the deaths of Lily and James Potter?”

Sirius looked up finally, and his eyes swept the room before his gaze landed on Arcturus. He nodded slowly and offered a small smile. He would stand by his grandson – he _knew_ him to be innocent. Sirius blinked and nodded once in return.

“It started when Harry was born, and James asked me to be his godfather. The Potters were already being hunted, killed off one branch at a time – they slaughtered them in the street, or in their own homes, it didn’t matter. Shortly afterwards, Dumbledore suggested they go into hiding. I told them to go to Rosestone, but James wouldn’t hear it – he thought it too obvious,” Sirius began, sitting up a little more.

Dumbledore nodded, confirming the tale for the chamber. There were a number of quiet gasps before Sirius continued.

“Lily suggested the _Fidelius_ and got Dumbledore to cast it over their home in Godric’s Hollow,” he began, but frowned, shaking his head.

“But something wasn’t right – it didn’t work properly, or something, I don’t know! All we knew was that the house wasn’t hidden for long, and the charm fell.

“Lily re-cast it herself, but I couldn’t act as the Secret Keeper anymore – we thought it was because I had been Dumbledore’s…” Sirius trailed off for a moment, his eyes vacant. “So, we chose Peter Pettigrew.”

The chamber erupted in noise. Lords and Ladies all around him shot to their feet, crying out for one reason or another. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest – Peter was the wizard Sirius was accused of killing, after all. Not only that, but he’d been awarded a posthumous _Order of Merlin_ , for his bravery in battling Sirius – rather presumptuous, he’d thought.

“Silence!” Dumbledore called out once again, though this time he remained on his feet and leaned against the railing of his own podium.

“Sirius, are you telling me that _Peter_ was the Secret Keeper?”

“I am.”

“Then _why_ did you continue to tell everyone that you were?”

“I was the decoy!” Sirius cried, his eyes wild and furious. “I was the more powerful of the two of us – my relationship with James made me the obvious choice! The _rat_ sold James and Lily out – we knew there was a traitor-“

“ _Sirius_ ,” Dumbledore interrupted with an edge to his voice that Arcturus couldn’t help but notice. There had been rumours of a group of wizards and witches that had been fighting back against the Dark Lord. The Ministry had been incredibly reactive during the war, but the group of vigilantes had taken the fight to the Dark Lord on more than one occasion – the _Prophet_ had covered each show-down between the two sides regularly.

Had Sirius been involved? He was certainly powerful enough to give most wizards and witches pause. He would have been a tremendous asset to the group.

Sirius calmed himself, though his stormy expression remained.

“Peter was a traitor. I _felt_ James die that night, and I went straight there.”

“You _Apparated_ to Godric’s Hollow?” Natalia asked, raising her brow slowly.

“No – I took my motorcycle. I wouldn’t have been able to _Apparate_ without splinching myself, and to Floo there could have meant suicide. It took more time, but I thought the bike the best choice.”

“Could you share with us the model of the bike?”

“A white _Triumph Bonneville_.”

“Let the record show that one such bike has been produced as evidence by the Chief Warlock, courtesy of one Rubeus Hagrid. Can you tell the court why Rubeus Hagrid had your bike in his possession?”

“Aye – when I arrived, the cottage was already half destroyed. Hagrid was already there, with Harry in his arms. I begged him to let me have him – I’d have taken him to Blackwall Manor, but Hagrid argued he was safer at Hogwarts. We argued, but eventually I gave him my bike to get Harry there.”

“Can you confirm these events, Chief Warlock?”

“I can – Hagrid has already told this same story and is one of the few testimonies the Prosecution has avoided, it seems.”

Arcturus glanced at Kate Young and found her pale and cringing – no doubt it wouldn’t be just Bagnold’s and Crouch’s careers ending if Sirius were declared innocent.

“What did you do immediately following these events?” Natalia asked, turning her gaze back to Sirius.

“I hunted Peter and found him on the second in Wembley. He drew his wand on me, and we fought – I wanted to bring him before the Wizengamot and have him confess before I executed him myself,” Sirius snarled, his fists clenching the arms of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. “That was when the Aurors turned up.”

“What happened, Sirius?”

“He started backing toward them, pretending he was overwhelmed. He accused me of betraying James. He removed a finger before he blasted the road open and made his escape.”

“How did Pettigrew escape? In all of the reports, they claim Pettigrew was at the centre of the explosion.”

“I saw what he was going to do. He escaped because he’s an _Animagus_ – his form is a common garden rat.”

“How can we believe a word that you say?” Natalia asked, slowly walking around the bound Sirius. Absently, Arcturus noticed Dumbledore slump into his chair.

“Because James and I showed him how to do it – we took him where he needed to go, and we walked him through the ritual!” Sirius snapped. “James and I were Animagus too. I’m a Grim, and James was a Stag. We did it in our fifth year.”

“Why did you not register yourselves, as required by law?”

“We didn’t want anyone to know if we needed to use them in the war. There aren’t many of us, and we thought it an advantage.”

“So, you would have us believe that Peter Pettigrew escaped into the sewer? That he is still alive, and is the true culprit to these crimes?”

“I would, aye. I would never harm the Potters, and I would _die_ before siding with the Dark Lord. They were the most important people in my life,” Sirius replied, hanging his head slowly.

“My Lords, my Ladies, before you sits a man loyal and true to House Potter – the future Lord of House Black,” Natalia began, her voice ringing out across the chamber as she turned to gaze upon the Lords and Ladies.

“This is a man who has been accused of heinous crimes, to which he is not guilty. Do I believe he acted rashly, and without forethought? Yes, but what can any of us do when overcome by grief?”

Natalia paused and Arcturus felt his mouth split into a grin – all around him, men and women were muttering between themselves.

“I say this man before you is innocent – a victim of circumstantial evidence and a desire to sweep the tragic events of the closing days of the war under the rug. Tell me, my Lords and Ladies, how would you feel if it were your heir sat chained before you in this way? I move for an immediate vote on the accused’s innocence – what say you, Chief Warlock, Minister?” she asked, turning to look at the two officials.

Arcturus took in Bagnold’s pale features as furious scowl – she had been perfectly manoeuvred into a corner from which she couldn’t escape, and for a moment, he thought he might kiss Natalia for her excellent work.

“I find myself in agreement,” Dumbledore replied, while Bagnold simply nodded once.

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, it is my duty to inform you that you must remain true to the evidence you have seen today. If there is any doubt in your mind, you _must_ vote innocent,” Bagnold called out, her voice tight and clipped.

“With a show of wands, those who believe the accused guilty?”

Arcturus looked around anxiously as he chewed on his bottom lip and almost wept at the number of small white lights that lit up the dark chamber. It was less than a quarter – his boy would be _free_!

“Those who believe the accused is innocent of all charges?”

The room lit up, with a sea of white wand-tips and Arcturus almost felt his knees give out beneath him.

“Let the record show that Sirius Orion Black, heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, is found innocent of all the charges before him,” Bagnold announced to the chamber, a number of cheers from the Vassal Lords of House Black answering her.

Arcturus swept from the box of House Black and almost sprinted down the stairs, despite his protesting knee. He was held back from rushing onto the central floor by a pair of large Aurors, both with their wands pointed in his general direction. He would give them credit, neither flinched under his gaze.

“Arcturus,” Dumbledore called from the centre of the floor, a shaking Sirius in his arms. “Come and get your boy.”


	2. Arcturus II

The study was dark that evening. Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows along portraits and large stone pillars in a strangely relaxing waltz. Perhaps it was the stress of the day, or perhaps it was merely his age, but everything seemed a little duller in Blackwall Manor as the sun began to make its final steps beyond the horizon. Colour did not appear as vibrant; smells were less delicious, and fabric felt that little bit coarser.

He had long since divested himself of his leather, instead desiring a little comfort for his old and beaten body. It had been many, _many_ years since he had worn any kind of armour – even one as light and forgiving as his studded leather. Perhaps it had been the adrenaline of the situation – the last of member his house that meant a damn facing the peril of Azkaban-- that had stirred him into such an action. Though, if the trial hadn’t gone the way it had, he didn’t know if even his own fearsome reputation would have been enough to help Sirius.

Images and thoughts of Azkaban flittered through his mind for a brief moment as he idly brushed a thumb back and forth over his moustache. There were many, _many_ magical prisons throughout the country – Azkaban was held as the most severe punishment. The presence of the Dementors was enough cause for any inmate to wish for death. Not even in his deepest, darkest nightmare could he imagine living in constant, abject despair. Was the Ministry so desperate to provide the illusion of doing _something_ in the wake of all of this that they would leap at the possibility of throwing an innocent man in there? He’d have to think some more on it.

A slight sigh whispered past his thin lips as he leaned back in his chair, the leather contorting and wrapping him in its embrace. He had spent many a day in this room. As his eyes swept across the room, he could spot the various knickknacks that he’d purchased over the years. Ghosts of the past flittered across his vision – his father standing before the fireplace, a weathered pipe in his hand as he glared at the flame; his wife, long since departed, sitting across from him in her favourite chair, knitting a small cardigan and every now and then gently stroking the swell of her stomach. Sirius, upside down on the small settee on the far side of the room, his feet up on the wall and his head hanging in the air as he read a book, idly swiping the pages as he looked at the pictures.

A soft smile crossed his face at the memory. Had it really been so long ago? Everything had gone so wrong in his family these last few years – the betrayal of most of his family, one by one. Where had they all gone so wrong? He hadn’t raised Orion to be a manic Pureblood! He’d raised Orion by the same ideals he himself had been taught – magic, in all its forms was sacred. It didn’t matter if you were Elf, Centaur, Muggleborn, Half-Blood or Pureblood – magic was magic. It seemed only Sirius had remained true and pure to the family traditions.

The Black family had a dark and sordid history. It wasn’t uncommon for members of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black to be called Dark Wizards and Witches. Perhaps, once-upon-a-time, that may have been true. But what truly _was_ dark? Of course, the family library had tomes upon tomes of magic that in the wrong hands could cause untold destruction and death. But had they used it? Not since the days of Camelot. Perhaps it had been hubris to assume that his children, and by extension the rest of his family, would conform to the same ideals and principals that he had. He just wished… What _did_ he wish? For his son to still be alive? That Sirius hadn’t been beaten and whipped bloody for _years_?

Reaching out, he took a piece of parchment in his left hand. He wished a great many things, but they were the regrets of an old man, worn down by time and circumstance. Ah, if only he were young again, how he would do things differently. But was that not the curse of hindsight?

His eyes darted along the neat script on the page, the graceful curves and flicks of the quill forever captured.

The dark oak door to his study opened with a quiet click, the hinges moving silently. He’d have to make a point of thanking the Elves at some point this evening. His eyes slowly moved to gaze upon the young man standing at the precipice. With a slight inclination of his head, he gestured for his grandson to enter.

“Grandfather,” Sirius began, bowing just so at the waist and inclining his head in respect. It was incredibly formal for the child that used to sit up on the stairs with a cold bucket of water, waiting for the next helpless victim to walk beneath him. Where had the laughter and the cheeky smiles gone? Where was the boy that he’d sat on his knee and pretended he was a broomstick for?

“Sirius, sit. Please,” He croaked, gesturing the chair directly opposite him. As Sirius sat, the candle flame on his desk illuminated his face. His eyes were still haunted, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, but his facial hair was once again neat, his hair falling in thick glossy curls to his shoulders, and his cheeks a bit less sallow.

“Grandfather, I-“ Sirius began, his voice catching in his throat, seemingly overcome with emotion. It had only been a handful of hours since Arcturus had literally carried Sirius out of the Ministry, lifting him bodily through the Floo.

“Sirius,” He interrupted, holding up a hand. “you have been, and always will be my boy. I’m just sorry it took me so long to bring you home.”

Sirius’ eyes got noticeably shinier in the warm light, and the young man seemed to be sucking on his cheeks in an attempt to hold it together. “Thank you. Truly.”

“How are you coping, son?”

“It’s… hard. James and Lily… I just can’t believe they’re gone,” At this, Arcturus gently put the parchment down and laced his fingers together over his stomach.

“It doesn’t get any easier, you know,” he replied gently after a moment, his voice soft, barely on the edge of hearing. “You learn to manage the pain, to push past it. It’s never the same though. James was a wonderful lad, and Lily was such a joy. Wicked sharp tongue, if I recall properly,” he added with a wry smirk and a chuckle.

For the first time in a long time, there was laughter in his study – the two men sharing a sweet moment in which they simply remembered. Sirius had many, _many_ more memories of his dear Lily, having gone to school with the late Lady Potter.

She had been a bright witch, the smartest of her generation if the whispers were any indication. Unlike many of the more noteworthy names in the wizarding world, she had no magical ancestry that anyone was aware of. She had been a muggle-born witch and hadn’t had any clue as to how truly special she had been until her eleventh birthday. By all accounts, she had attacked the Hogwarts library with a passion in the seven years she had attended the school, soaking up as much knowledge as she possibly could. According to Sirius, she had been brilliant at potions, and was Merlin reborn when it came to charms. Such a tragedy that her life had been cut so short.

James Potter, on the other hand, had been an absolute terror and joy. In James, Sirius had found a kindred spirit – another young boy who simply wanted to make people laugh and smile. News of the pair’s exploits throughout the school had reached him on an almost fortnightly basis, informing him of yet another detention for whatever prank they’d pulled this time. Seeing the boys together had been a sight to behold. Practically joined at the hip, the two had ran circles around anyone they could, jumping from one prank to another with an enthusiasm found only in children. It was hard to begrudge them, what with war on the horizon. It was a glimpse of the innocence they would lose all too quickly.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Lily set me on fire?” Sirius asked suddenly, his eyes vacant and unseeing as he lost himself in the memory, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth that bordered on a smirk.

“I don’t believe so, no,” he smiled.

“It was at Godric’s Hollow. Harry must have been, oh, just over a year? Something like that. Anyway, we were all round in the summer, and we’d all picked little things up for his first birthday. Moony had gotten him a copy of Beedle the Bard, Wormtail had bought him a few toys, Prongs had bought a few stuffed toys – all stags, obviously. I bought him one of those baby brooms, y’know the ones, with the straps and all?” he said, his shoulders shaking in a slight chuckle.

“Anyway, James and I end up strapping Harry into the broom while Lily’s out the room. Then, before we know it, the pup’s off, flying around the room like he was born to it. All the while, he’s giggling and clapping, right, but before we could close the door to the rest of the house, he’s out. I remember James looking at me, pale as anything and wincing when we heard Lily screeching from the kitchen. ‘ _James Charlus Potter, just_ what _is your son doing on that broom_?!’” he laughed, imitating Lily’s voice as best he could.

“Then, James goes, ‘ _Has he caught the cat yet_?’ Well, you can imagine that didn’t go down well – in she comes, livid as anything, and all of a sudden, we hear a crash and the cat scream. So, we all rush out and see Harry’s taken a nose-dive into Lily’s potted plants on her windowsill. He’s got herbs on his head, covered in soil, and he’s laughing and clapping away still. Meanwhile, the cat was dangling from the light. So, with nobody saying anything, I just asked – quite innocently, mind you, ‘ _So, Seeker, then_?’” He was in full belly laughs now, tears forming in both their eyes.

“I remember Lily spinning on me, and _everyone_ took a step back. She started slapping my arms and chest, screaming, ‘ _Don’t you dare get any stupid ideas you bloody,_ bloody _dog. I swear, why we let you in the house is beyond me_!’ So, I start running out into the back garden, everyone’s laughing, and at some point, she must have grabbed her wand, because the next thing I know, my jacket’s on fire and then my trousers! Everyone’s laughing, of course.” There were a few quiet moments once the laughter died down.

“That was the last time we were all together,” Sirius sniffed quietly, his eyes coming back into focus.

The fireplace crackled and spat a handful of embers into the air as a log collapsed, the air thick with _something_ that even with all his years, Arcturus couldn’t quite name or place.

“You know who you could tell these stories to, don’t you?” Arcturus said, standing slowly as his grandson watched him. He stepped around his desk gingerly, his knees burning after the day’s events. He almost fell into the chair next to Sirius. “Harry.”

“I-“ Sirius began, before catching himself as Arcturus held a hand up.

“You’re the boy’s godfather, Sirius. He’s all that’s left in the world of James and Lily. They trusted you with their boy, and wherever they are now, _if_ there’s even a place we go to after all of this,” he gestured around himself for a moment. “then you _know_ they would want you to have him. Who else would, or even could?”

“Remus- “

“-is a werewolf. As much as I love the boy, he’d never be granted custody of a _Potter_.”

“Lily had a sister- “

“-who, you yourself told me hated magic.”

“I’m not- “

“Sirius, I watched you protect Regulus from everything until you went to Hogwarts. I know you will love that boy as if he were your own, and you’d move _Avalon_ itself for him,” Arcturus said, with an air of finality. He gently placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “It would be nice to hear the sound of a child in this house again.”

There was a heavy moment where Sirius said nothing, staring at the dark floorboards beneath his feet. A hundred different emotions crossed his face as the candlelight flickered.

“Okay,” Sirius whispered, his breath shaky and heavy.

Arcturus nodded and pulled the man up to his feet as he himself rose, the tunics on both of them dark and loose, almost hanging off of their athletic frames. With a force he didn’t know he still had in him, Arcturus pulled Sirius into an embrace, threading his liver-spotted fingers through the younger man’s hair, while his left hand grabbed a handful of the tunic on his boy’s back. He felt Sirius bury his face in the crook of his neck as his shoulder shook gently. They remained like this for a few minutes, until eventually Sirius stood taller, his shoulders squared as only a Black could.

“Where is he? Last I saw, Hagrid was taking him to Dumbledore, but that was at least a week ago?” Sirius asked, a grim determination settled in his eyes, even if his breath was still heavy and his eyes still wet.

“Hogwarts,” Arcturus smiled, reaching over and lightly picking the parchment up that he’d looked at earlier. He handed it over silently as Sirius began to read it.

“By all accounts, the faculty and the students love him. Been running McGonagall ragged. If you ask me, I think she’s rather enjoyed having him,” he chuckled.

“I always knew she was a softie.”

“They’re expecting you tonight. Do you want me to come with you?” Arcturus said, moving to the large marble fireplace. This, like many fireplaces across the wizarding world, was connected the Floo Network, allowing almost instantaneous travel between two fixed points. Many, such as the ones belonging to homes or families, required passwords or the Wards around them to be de-activated. Albus Dumbledore was taking a large risk tonight, having lowered the Wards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of which he was headmaster, to allow them access.

“If it’s not too much trouble…” Sirius whispered, a hint of fear and panic in his words.

Arcturus didn’t even hesitate, instead grasping a handful of Floo Powder from a small jar that sat on a small shelf to the side of the fireplace. The mantel legs were so tall, he could step into position without having to lower his head. He turned, his eyes sweeping the room as Sirius stepped up to gather his own powder. The fireplace on the far wall – the practical one, at least, was still burning brightly and would continue to do so for a few hours yet. Throwing the powder down at his feet, he called out, “Hogwarts, Dumbledore’s office!” and felt the large green flames swallow him whole.

* * *

Stepping into the office of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was like stepping into a room of a thousand and one gadgets and gizmos. All around the multi-tiered room were cabinets upon cabinets of knickknacks and various paraphernalia. The cold moonlight cast the room in a cold blue light that even in his advanced age took his breath away. It had been over half a century since he’d last set foot in this legendary room. Even now, he still felt a child in its presence.

The whoosh of the Floo behind him alerted him to Sirius’ arrival as a voice from the far end of the room called out a greeting to the two new arrivals.

“Ah, Arcturus, Sirius! I’ll be with you in just a jiffy!” Albus called down, his grandfatherly voice barely needing any effort to carry itself down to them. Within moments, the Headmaster, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W stood before them in his deep violet robes. His silver hair fell down to the middle of his back and appeared to be held in place by a small stout cap. In companion to his long hair, the beard of Dumbledore was something to behold indeed. The thick mass of hair was perfectly groomed, falling over the slight swell of his belly and was neatly tied halfway down.

“Arcturus, my friend! Sirius!” the man greeted them jovially, a twinkle like no other dancing in his eyes as he peered at them over half-moon spectacles. The two of them bowed slightly in respect.

“Sirius, allow me be the first to apologise for the grievous error. I allowed myself to form judgements when I should have been impartial and known better. I am afraid nobody is without fault, as much as we may all want to be. Tell me, how can I make this better, my boy?” Dumbledore apologised, looking directly at his grandson.

“It’s no issue, Albus. I can understand why everyone thought as much. There’s nothing to apologise for,” Sirius replied, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

“As you wish,” Dumbledore replied, nodding slightly. There was a pause before he gently clapped his hands together. “Now, I understand that young Mr Potter is off to a new home this evening. Would you like to see him? I fear he may have melted Minerva’s heart!”

There was a light chuckle as the three cast their thoughts to the strict Scottish woman in question. Minerva McGonagall was a stern woman on the outside, though once you learned what to look for, she was a delightfully loving woman of 77 years with a wickedly funny husband. While politically the family of Black and McGonagall had rarely agreed, he did so enjoy their company.

Arcturus followed Dumbledore and Sirius down the winding staircase that led from his office into the rest of the school. Despite the hour, it appeared that curfew within the school had yet to be called, as every now and then the trio would pass a stunned student. While both his own and Sirius’ clothes were plain and comfortable, the sigil of House Black was still stitched in fine detail quite proudly on their left breasts, and their clothes were in their house colours – black, of course.

As they meandered the brick and stone hallways, his mind wandered back to his own brief tenure as a student, rising through the academic and social tiers of Slytherin – one of the four Hogwarts houses, and typically the one that the cunning, ambitious and determined are placed into. Sirius, he knew had been sorted into the house of Gryffindor, the house of the brave and courageous. When the time came, which would Harry be placed into? Slytherin? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw, the house of the house of the wise and creative, or Hufflepuff – the house of the loyal and dedicated? As much as he liked to think he would be happy to see the tyke grow up into any of these houses, a part of him hoped to see the boy follow in his parent’s footsteps.

Not a moment later, the three of them arrived at the hospital wing, the large double doors all that separated them from the domain of the infamous Madame Pomfrey. While young, she had garnered a reputation among recent graduates for a strict no-nonsense attitude towards her charges. On the one hand, he was delighted to know that the young were under the care of someone so dedicated, but he couldn’t help a barely contained shiver of fear at having to endure it himself.

It seemed Sirius had spotted his momentary lapse of control and smirked at him.

Arse.

With a gentle push, the doors to the infirmary swung inwards, and the smell of a dozen different healing potions tickled their noses, while the sounds of childish glee bounced off of the walls. This was it.

Striding past the elderly wizard, Sirius burst into the infirmary without a second’s hesitation – bloody Gryffindor. Arcturus, in comparison, walked past Dumbledore alongside Sirius in a much more _determined_ fashion – a decidedly Slytherin approach, of course. He’d hex the fist person to dare tell him he was as dunderheaded as a Gryffindor. If his memory of statistics served him correctly, he remembered seeing a note somewhere that Gryffindors were the most common infirmary patients. He would have to find it again and throw it in Sirius’ face the next time he decided to act the cheeky git.

“Where is he?” Sirius whispered, his head snapping back and forth as he searched the room. The sound echoed out once more, coming from the far side of the room in a closed-off section.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the two were off again, hurrying over to the partition that had been set up. Sirius ripped back the curtain, having seen the silhouettes of two figures playing with a child from the _Lumos_ charm.

Before them, sat on two simple wooden chairs, were Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey. A small boy with wild black hair and emerald eyes waddled back and forth between the two, his tiny teeth set into a childish grin as drool dribbled down his chin. Dressed in simple striped baby pyjamas, he held a little stuffed black dog in his fist and was holding it up at Minerva as if it were the Tri-Wizard Cup. A part of Arcturus’ heart melted at the sight.

“Pa’foo!” little Harry giggled, pointing at the dog as Minerva nodded and marvelled at how handsome a dog he was. The boy was being positively spoiled rotten.

“Prongslet…” Sirius breathed, causing the three heads to turn towards them. Minerva’s face attempted to contort itself into its usual stern countenance, but Arcturus merely raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, _too late, I already saw you_. She huffed stubbornly when she realised the game was up. Sirius dropped to his knees as the young boy waddled as fast and animatedly as he could into the waiting arms of his godfather.

“Pa’foo! Pa’foo!” he squealed, barely slowing enough to avoid injury as the boy leapt at Sirius.

“Harry…” Sirius whispered into the boy’s hair, pressing half a dozen kisses into the boy’s thick, wild hair that seemed to stick in every direction possible. Sirius cleared his throat and looked at the boy.

“Hey kiddo, how’ve you been? Old McGonagall given you detention yet?”

“If he’s anything like his father, I give it a week,” Minerva shot in return, raising a challenging eyebrow at the young man on the floor.

“It’ll be a day if I have anything to say about it,” Sirius replied, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Minerva, Poppy. Thank you for looking after him,” Arcturus said after politely clearing his throat. “The House of Black owes you a debt.”

“Oh, it was nothing, really. The boy’s a delight,” Poppy smiled, her hands clasped over her heart as she mooned over the boy.

“I agree, it was pure pleasure,” Minerva agreed, smiling at the group. He sensed Dumbledore shifting behind him slightly.

“Is there anything we should be aware of?” Arcturus asked, moving to the side slightly to allow Dumbledore access.

“Nothing noteworthy besides the scar on his head. It seems to be the result of some dark, _dark_ magic – nothing we have available here would be able to treat it. Besides that, he’s a perfectly healthy baby boy,” Poppy replied as she stood, dusting off her gown as she did so.

“Dark magic?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowing as Harry began climbing over his outstretched legs – at some point, Sirius had sat down on his arse.

“I suspect young Harry here, may be the first and only person here to have survived the Killing Curse, though the _how_ still eludes me. Perhaps the dark magic is a residual energy left behind?” Dumbledore chimed in, his voice low – almost conspiratorial.

“He tried to kill a _baby_?!” Sirius growled, low and dangerously.

“Ba’bee!” Harry clapped, oblivious to the conversation around him. Sirius’ mood instantly brightened as he agreed and ran his hands through the boy’s hair.

The adults remained silent for a few minutes, simply basking in the actions of a small child who was completely at ease and carefree. There was a distinctly _Minerva_ sounding sniffle just to his right. With his right arm, he reached around the younger woman’s shoulders and affectionately gave her a supporting squeeze, though if anyone asked either of them, the two would deny it vehemently. It was a matter of principle.

“Harry,” Arcturus said, getting down on one knee before the child who was now engrossed in showing Sirius all the benefits of his toy dog. The boy looked up at him with intensity in those stunningly emerald eyes. For a moment the old wizard was taken aback slightly.

“Harry, how would you like to come and stay with us for a while?”

The boy looked at Sirius, who was nodding encouragingly.

“Pa’foo?” Harry asked, uncertainly.

“That’s right, do you want to come and stay with Padfoot? I know he misses you,” Sirius replied, brushing a thumb over one of Harry’s baby cheeks.

“M’ma? Pa’pap?”

“Mummy and Da’da have to go away for a little bit, so they’ve asked me to take care of you. They said we could have lots of fun,” Sirius croaked, his eyes once again brimming with tears. “Mummy and Da’da love you very much.”

Poppy blew her nose into a handkerchief.

Harry nodded slowly, burying his face into Sirius’ tunic while Sirius buried his face in Harry’s hair.

“Will you be alright with everything tonight? We managed to recover some of his items from the house,” Minerva asked, her Scottish brogue seemingly heavy with her own emotions.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Arcturus smiled as he stood – proud of the fact he hadn’t winced as he did so. He watched quietly as Sirius scooped the now sleepy Harry up into his arms, his chubby little fingers gripping his tunic tightly.

“We shrank it down and placed it into a case, but the largest thing was his crib. I’ll just go and-“ Poppy began, pausing when the tears threatened to overcome her once again. “-get it.”

The adults watched her hurry from the room, her heels click-clacking on the marble tiles. It would be a simple thing to get one of the Elves to set the crib up in Sirius’ room for the night. Then, in the morning they could find Harry a room all his own.

Tomorrow seemed such a long way away, he thought with a sigh. There were so many things to _do_. Harry’s future had to be assured – his happiness nothing less than guaranteed. Arcturus, and Sirius especially, would settle for nothing less.

Perhaps populating the house a little more wouldn’t go amiss, after all. Blackwall Manor – the ancestral seat of House Black was a large house, and an even larger estate. But who to bring in? He’d have to think about it some more and speak with his grandson. Though, as he watched Poppy return with a non-descript case, he couldn’t help but be excited for the first time in a long time at just what tomorrow could bring.


	3. Arcturus III

It was a quiet evening in February when it happened. They had been sat in the room that had been converted into Harry’s playroom – gone were the gothic paintings, the intimidating colours and the frankly depressing furniture.

Now, the room was brightly lit, with a bold red and gold colour scheme – Sirius was convinced Harry was a Gryffindor through and through. The wooden floorboards had been replaced with a soft carpet that you could sink into, and its deep crimson colour complimented the red walls perfectly, with a skirting board of gold separating the two surfaces.

Arcturus would have gagged at the sight on reflex if it hadn’t been for Harry’s reaction a week after they’d brought him home—the Slytherin in him had been pouting for _months_. In the time since they’d brought the boy home, young Harry had gotten into all kinds of mischief and mayhem – usually because of his own grandson -- and had been driving his Elf around the bend the second he became confident on his feet.

As he sat on one of the rich couches along the side of the room, he watched with a small smile at Sirius, cross-legged on the floor with the young boy. He playfully levitated a few toys over to him, only to bring them back just out of reach as Harry squealed in joy.

“Oh, gonna get it, Harry? Gonna get it?” Sirius would tease, his voice soft and indulgent.

It happened just as Arcturus took a sip of his tea. Harry had looked so intently at another toy – a plush Phoenix that had been made from the finest material money could find. After the Stag, Doe, Grim, and Wolf, the Phoenix plushie was Harry’s favourite. There had been a moment of pure concentration -- which, quite frankly was mildly disturbing on a child just a few months shy of two years -- and then, all of a sudden, Harry had stretched out an arm. The toy had slapped into his tiny little palm almost instantly, the grinning face of the child buried into the crook of the bird’s neck.

Arcturus had spat his tea out in a quite undignified manner, while Sirius had sat there with his jaw hanging open. Lispy, Harry’s Nanny-Elf, began hopping from one foot to the other, worrying the thin flesh of her bat-like ears between her fingers as she glanced between Arcturus and Harry.

“Did he-?” Sirius began, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I think…?” Arcturus tried, noting absently that Kreacher had popped into the room, clicked his long, gnarled fingers to clean the tea up, and popped back out.

Arcturus leapt off of the couch and positioned himself on the floor, grasping Harry’s toy owl in front of him. “Harry,” He began, drawing the boy’s attention immediately. “Harry, do you think you can do that again?”

The boy was quiet for a moment, looking between the two adults in the room cautiously. When they both nodded encouragements, the boy raised an arm again and the owl flew into his embrace. Harry giggled excitedly as he fell backwards.

“That wasn’t accidental magic…” Sirius breathed, replacing his wand in his wrist-holster.

“That was directed intent. I’ve never heard of a child do that so young before,” Arcturus agreed. In all his years, never had he heard of a child consciously directing their magic at such a young age. Sure, there were the occasional bouts of accidental magic that were usually caused by extreme emotions, such as a childish temper tantrum, but that was mostly found among the Muggle-born.

“Do you think we should tell anyone? Dumbledore, maybe?” Sirius asked after a moment, moving over to Arcturus slowly as Lispy began to play with Harry. The little Elf had instantly taken a shining to the boy, doting on him every opportunity she was presented. It hadn’t taken long for Arcturus to assign her exclusively to him.

“I’m not sure. We should take a step back and evaluate all of our options. Too much has happened since October to make any decision hastily,” he replied slowly, stroking his stubbled chin. With a grunt, and a creaking of his knees that he was _positive_ hadn’t been there last week, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Lispy, keep playing with Harry. I need to talk with Sirius in my study. Alert me if you need anything.”

“Yes Master Arcturus, sir.”

Lispy curtsied elegantly before returning her attention to her charge.

“Sirius, come,” he commanded, his thoughts running a mile a minute.

It was common knowledge in their world that Pureblood and Half-blood children were taught magic, or at the very least how to _control_ their magic from a very early age; it was often a reason why Muggle-born students struggled in their first few years, and often never _truly_ embraced their gift as their peers did.

There were many different kinds of witches and wizards in their society, some far more common than others. There were the average, every-day citizens of their world – those who possessed the power, knowledge, and ambitions of those that had graduated school and were happy to just _be_. Some would rise high in society, like the recently appointed High Prosecutor, Cornelius Fudge.

There were others, such as those that often found themselves in physically demanding positions like the Aurors, or the Hit Wizards. While they were far less frequent in Britain, they were much more common in _other_ places he was aware of. These were men and women who had an innate understanding of combat and strategy, more often than not. Of course, there was always an exception to the rule, he supposed.

Then, there were the passives-- those who performed magic for the benefit of others. The drive to use their magic to help others tended to result in a high number of passive Healers. There were many different ways of helping others, of course, though passives seemed to have a natural inclination toward healing.

Finally, there were the _Mages_. These men and women were so intrinsically tied to their magic and the magic around them that they had no defining category to place them into. Throughout history, mages had appeared in every discipline known, often leading their field. The last two _known_ mages had been Dumbledore, and later _Voldemort_. It had been one of the theories as to how he had amassed such a _devout_ following. There were perhaps a handful of mages across the globe. Even the distinct _possibility_ that Harry could perhaps be one? He almost paled at the thought.

Over the last three months, he had noted just how wild and powerful the boy’s magic was, though he had chalked it up to his youth. Perhaps there was more to it? He was, after all, the last of the _Potter_ bloodline – an ancient and distinctly powerful bloodline that could trace its lineage all the way back to Arthur’s round table and even _beyond_. Could this be Magic’s way of ensuring that the bloodline continued, especially in these dark and uncertain times?

They came to the study before his thoughts could spiral any further. With barely a pause in his stride, the door was open, and he was making his way to his chair. Sirius took his usual seat opposite him.

“We should keep this to ourselves,” Arcturus began, holding a hand up to halt Sirius’ protests. “With everything that’s happened, I think it best. That business with Bellatrix could have quite easily happened here.”

Sirius snorted.

“If you think Bellatrix could get the best of _either_ of us…”

“Neither of us are invincible, nor neither of us are _infallible_ , Sirius. You should know that most of all,” he retorted, sharper than he had intended.

Looking suitably cowed, his grandson nodded. “So, what do you propose?”

That was the real question, wasn’t it? What _could_ they do? Both of them were powerful, there was no question about that, but if his suspicions were correct – and a part of him desperately wished he was, if only for Harry to be able to grow up and be _happy_ \-- then neither of them would really, truly be able to keep up with the boy.

They could hire tutors, buy every book they could get their hands on, and hope for the best until the boy could go to Hogwarts. Perhaps… Yes, that might work!

“For now, we treat him as if he were any other child. His lessons will start earlier, to teach him control, of course. When he’s a little older, we’ll take him to the _Capital_ and have him checked over. At least then, we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with and _how_ to best teach him.”

“The _Capital_? You can’t seriously mean to-“ Sirius began.

“I do and I _shall_ see that he makes it there. You know as well as I that there are many, _many_ advantages to taking him there. Or are you forgetting that Britain is merely a _colony_?” Arcturus replied, his voice firm and unyielding.

“Of course I know that! But to travel there, while his magic is still so _young_ -“

“Enough!” Arcturus cut him off, his magic flaring briefly and causing a candlestick to wobble uncertainly for a moment.

“I’m not happy about it either, but it’s the best chance we have of getting some _bloody_ answers. He shall go there, and then, before returning to this house, he shall visit his ancestral seat of power in this domain. We shall also introduce to him his other seat of power while we are there. Is that understood?”

“Yes grandfather,” Sirius mumbled, running a tired hand down his face as he slumped back in his chair.

“Now, this brings me to another problem that I’ve been debating about for some time,” he sighed, mimicking his grandson. “I would have that boy carefree and happy. I would give him the bloody world,” pointing his finger in the direction of the room they had been in not so long ago.

“I would see us re-evaluate our political alliances.”

Sirius blinked heavily at that, almost as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Not that I’m against throwing out everything your predecessors have worked so hard to build, but _why_?”

“Because, we are a neutral house on the brink of extinction. You and I are the main line, Sirius. That’s it. Not to mention, many of our alliances are with those who swore themselves to Voldemort. I would not have us bow to that _upstart_ for anything.”

“And we’re raising Harry,” Sirius breathed, suddenly looking far older than he was.

“Indeed. We have the _last_ Potter. The war wiped out all the other lines, according to the Wizengamot. He is integral to a number of alliances that are the polar opposite of our own.”

There was a pause for a time.

“I think it best if we stand behind him, regardless. Call it an old man’s worry, but I fear for that boy. I worry he won’t get a day of peace.”

“But he _killed_ him!”

“Aye, he did. And how many do you think would like nothing more than to avenge their fallen Lord? How long until we have _another_ Dark Lord? How long until there’s another war, and we’re not fighting it, but _Harry_ is?!”

He’d worked himself up, he knew that, but the blood pumping through his veins wouldn’t be calmed. His fear for the _innocent_ child was overwhelming him in that moment.

“If he fights, I’ll be there alongside him. Just like I was for his father,” Sirius replied, a steel in his voice that was becoming more and more common whenever Harry’s future was discussed.

“And if you’re old? If you’re dead? Who stands with him then?”

Sirius sighed and frowned. “Who did you have in mind?”

“A number of families, if I’m honest. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Prewett, Bones, Abbott… Longbottom.”

“You can’t be serious! Augusta would curse us out of the country before we could say a word!” Sirius exclaimed, his voice rising.

“As of this morning, I’m _deadly_ serious. This arrived,” he replied calmly, passing a small piece of parchment over the desk.

Sirius took it, and he watched as his eyes darted back and forth across the page, then for a second and a third time. “This is real? Seriously?”

“As real as you and I,” he replied with a solemn nod.

“But she’s in _Azkaban_! How in _Merlin’s_ name did you manage to get the Ministry to sign off on this?”

He smiled briefly, remembering the rather _forceful_ conversation he’d had with Bagnold a week ago. She would agree to this, or… well, he hadn’t given her any other option, if he was honest with himself. It was awfully _Gryffindor_ of him. He refused to gag at the thought.

“I have my ways. In any case, it matters very little – Bellatrix will die tomorrow evening. She will be cast from the family in perpetuity and erased from any family grimoire. In addition, I sent Andromeda an owl this morning offering a place in the family once more.”

“Andromeda? But, I thought-“ Sirius began, his jaw working, though no sound escaped.

“She ran off in haste and made assumptions in anger. I never cast her from the family – she has, and always will be a _Black_. Once Bellatrix’s assets have been seized and audited by Gringotts, Andromeda shall be given _everything_.”

Arcturus smirked. He did so miss little Andromeda.

The two of them sat there for a moment, the conversation having taken something out of both of them. There was so much to do now; so much to discuss, so many people to talk to.

“What about Augusta? You still haven’t said how you’re going to approach her,” Sirius finally asked.

“Well, now that would just be telling,” Arcturus winked as a decidedly _Slytherin_ smirk spread across his lips.

* * *

“You’ve got some _bloody_ nerve!” Augusta Longbottom snapped as he stepped through the fireplace. The two were long-time friends from their years in the Wizengamot together. While Augusta hadn’t officially held a seat, as she had married into the family, many of the political motions her husband, Rupert Longbottom, had pushed forward had been at her insistence.

As he stepped into her office properly, he quickly took everything in. The room was light, lit through the many, many windows that made up the walls. All around the room were various potted plants, arranged in such a way that the colours often complimented one another. The smell was earthy and fresh, while the temperature was cool and inviting-- a far cry from his own study.

The woman he’d come to see, however, was anything but inviting. She stood there, wand pointed in his _general_ direction, with her face flushed a furious red. She looked quite the sight in her signature vulture hat and tweed suit.

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Augusta, I promise you, I mean no ill intent.”

“No ill intent?! My Frank is beyond _mad_ thanks in no small part because of _your_ family!” she screeched, a vein visible protruding from her forehead. “Poor Neville is all but a bloody _orphan_ because of your Bellatrix!”

“Ah, I’m glad you mentioned her, actually,” he said, clicking his fingers. “I come with a gift. Kreacher!”

Within moments, the ugliest of all his House Elves appeared before him. He was not alone, however. Alongside him was the corpse of his former relative, her skin only slightly paler than it had been in life, and her infamously wild, curly hair lay limp and mangled.

“What is the meaning of this?” Augusta demanded, her wand instantly moving to the corpse.

“This… _creature_ has been executed for her crimes with _The Kiss_ in Azkaban. She has been stripped of any relation to the House of Black in perpetuity as well as been removed – with extreme prejudice --from any mention in our family grimoires. We offer you her remains for you to do as you please – in the extent of the law, of course -- in the hopes that it can help in part with our formal apology to the House of Longbottom,” Arcturus replied formally. “Personally, I suggest burning the bitch.”

Cremations were a tricky business for magical society. Witches and wizards weren’t traditionally a _religious_ lot, but tended to revere _magic_ itself. Magic had many, many different forms. Over the thousands of years, many aspects of it had been given names, as it often felt _alive_ , in a sense. Through these beliefs, it had become tradition for many to simply be buried in a location of their choosing – usually with an item of personal importance. Many chose their wands, of course, but others took books, brooms, or personal treasure – one witch famously attempted to take a _dragon_ with her. As a result, it had become an unofficial insult to be cremated, as the body was considered to be a blessing from magic – something special in and of itself. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped, and witches and wizards got themselves killed through explosions or by dragons anyway. Honestly, some people were just born to die stupid deaths.

Augusta was quiet for a long time, merely eyeing the corpse and the wretched Elf next to it. Eventually, she took two determined strides forward, spat on Bellatrix’s face, and ordered Kreacher to take it to one of her own Elves and begin setting up a pyre.

“Feel a bit better?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her once Kreacher had left.

“I’d make an _Inferi_ out of her just to kill her myself if I could,” she spat, her hands trembling in rage.

“Frank was a good lad, Augusta. I’m truly very sorry.”

Augusta sat down heavily in her chair on the far side of her desk and stared at him with a look that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“He was. The best a mother could ask for.”

“I understand he was close to James Potter.”

Augusta snorted.

“Your days in the Wizengamot are well and truly over if you’re going to be as transparent as that, Arcturus. Yes, James looked up to him like an older brother.”

Arcturus shrugged. “I didn’t come here to play word-games. I would have us be friends, allies even.”

She laughed, even as a House Elf appeared, wearing a uniform of a pair of denim dungarees and a tiny, child-sized checked shirt underneath it.

“Oh, Arcturus, why on _Avalon_ would House Longbottom and House Black stand as allies? Especially after what the bitch and her friends did?”

“House Black is re-evaluating its political and social standing following the fall of the Dark Lord. We know we can’t remain neutral in the future if another threat arises. We would stand faithfully behind the House of Potter.”

He reached out and stirred a bit of cream and sugar into his tea that had been provided by the Elf. He thanked it politely as it popped away with a small smile.

“You would stand behind _Potter_?” she asked finally, her white-china cup halfway to her mouth.

“I should have done so before now. My heir did what I could not, and even now is sat in the boy’s den, playing with the _last_ of the Potter line. In the time I’ve spent with the boy, I’ve come to love him as my own. Sirius is as devoted to the boy as any parent.”

“It could upset a great _many_ houses that Longbottom is allied with. _Merlin_ , man – even our own vassals would be outraged.”

“To the void with our vassals. They fall in line behind _us_. They owe fealty to _us_. I’m not hoping that it happens today, but House Black will begin removing itself from any previous alliance that would not support House Potter as of tonight. The quaffle is in your court, so to speak.”

He smiled slightly around his cup. The tea was fantastic.

“And what would you want from this alliance, hm?” Augusta’s cup was completely forgotten now. Her face was set in a slight frown he knew had nothing to do with her mood, but everything to do with how she was concentrating – attempting to find every angle to his motivations. If she had been able to keep her face less obvious, she could have made a fantastic Slytherin. He’d best not mention that to the aged Hufflepuff.

“Agreement on political agendas, an agreement to take up arms in defence of one another, and I believe some supervised play-dates between young Harry and Neville. I understand from Sirius that the two of them are godbrothers?”

“Aye, your boy is right on that front, I suppose. He’s a quiet lad, prone to shyness – hard to believe he’s Frank’s,” Augusta scoffed.

Arcturus frowned at that.

“If my sources within the D.M.L.E are to be believed, Augusta, they found Crouch Junior and one of the LeStrange brothers playing with the boy while the other two tortured your son and daughter-in-law in the next room. Things like that will affect a child – try being a little more patient with the lad. Maybe Harry and Neville will be good for one another, hm?”

“Don’t presume to tell me how to raise my grandson, Arcturus,” Augusta sniped in return. “I know full well what the report said, and I’d thank you not to mention it again in this household.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I apologise if I insulted you, I don’t mean to presume to tell you how to raise your grandson. In any case, we’ve wandered from the topic. Besides those previously mentioned points, House Black is more than willing to offer financial recompense for the loss of its Lord and Lady. This can be done either through monetary means, business endeavours, or even a combination of the two. House Black has _greatly_ slighted your House, Augusta. Let me try and make it right somehow.”

“You can’t _buy_ your forgiveness, Arcturus!” Augusta snapped, her left eye twitching slightly.

“You know as well as I that my intentions are not to recompense forgiveness, Augusta. I’m offering your house a _Werguild_ as tradition demands, and because it’s the _least_ I can bloody well do. You’re smarter than this. Stop taking every other sentence I say as insult, purely because some tart from my family wronged yours. You _know_ me! We’ve been friendly for _decades_.”

Augusta was silent for a while, stewing in her anger. The angry huffs of air being shot out of her nose would have deterred a Hungarian Horntail.

“Very well, Arcturus. House Longbottom will accept the Werguild. Any further alliance will depend entirely on how honest your motives are. We can discuss it further after the next Wizengamot session in March. I assume you’ll also be approaching the other like-minded houses for a similar alliance in the meantime?”

“Of course,” he nodded. He stood as he did so, wrapping his knee-length coat around him absently.

“Very well, I-“

Whatever Augusta was about to say was interrupted when a young, chubby-faced child burst through the large oak door, a pair of House Elves trailing behind him worriedly in an almost comical way.

“Gram! I did a-“

The boy halted his thought when he spotted Arcturus standing there with a grin on his face.

“Neville, what have I told you about barging into rooms?”

The boy looked down, all his excitement drained from his face and he sniffled at his shoes. “It’s not polite Gram. Di’nt know you had company, sorry sir,” Neville apologised, bowing a little in Arcturus’ direction.

“Neville Longbottom, correct?” Arcturus asked as he stepped up to the boy. When the lad nodded, he got down on one knee and flicked his chin playfully.

“What was it you wanted to tell,” he looked over his shoulder at Augusta briefly with a twinkle in his eye. “ _Grams_ about, hmm?”

“I did a bit of gard’nin’ with the Elves an’ they said it was good n’stuff,” Neville mumbled, looking more proud toward the end of the declaration.

“That’s good, hm? You’ll have little green thumbs before you know it. I know another little boy who likes playing with House Elves, do you know who?”

Neville shook his head slightly, his mouth forming an adorable little O, and his eyes were equally as wide.

“My great-grandchild, Harry. Would you like to meet him someday? He’s your age.”

Arcturus’ heart nearly broke at how quickly the child nodded.

“Well, we’ll have to arrange something now, won’t we?”

Arcturus stood to his full height once again as Neville ran out the room excitedly, babbling something about telling his Elf friends.

“You’re incorrigible, even after all these years,” Augusta scoffed as she came to stand next to him.

Arcturus snorted, “I’d be a piss poor Slytherin if I wasn’t underhanded now, wouldn’t I?”

There was a moment of silence as the two of them moved to the fireplace.

“I just want what’s best for Harry, and that involves other children his own age. Do you want to leave him to Sirius and me for eleven years?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he grasped a handful of powder.

“ _Merlin_ forbid. Sirius doesn’t need to corrupt anyone other than himself, thank you. Now, get going so I can burn the bitch,” Augusta said, pushing him into the fireplace. With a wink, Arcturus was engulfed in the green flames as he called out the name of his home.


	4. Sirius I

“This Wizengamot session has been called to order on the first of June, nineteen-eighty-two!” Bagnold called out from her pedestal. The accompanying thuds of the gavel echoed throughout the chamber and silenced any on-going conversations.

“All rise for the Chief Warlock!” the Speaker called out – the shuffle of feet as everyone stood until Dumbledore gestured for them all to sit was louder than he’d expected.

All around him, he saw in detail for the first time the various reactions of those around him at the aged wizard’s presence. Some had carefully constructed neutral expressions, others were pleased and finally, there were those small few who dared to outright scowl at the man.

As everyone adjusted themselves once again in their seats, the Wizengamot scribe fiddled with a quill for a moment before nodding over towards Bagnold.

“We have a number of items on the agenda today, so let us begin. First, petitions to the court. The Noble House of Abbott, you have the floor.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Thomas Abbott stood. He was a middle-aged man, recently widowed in the war. If his memory served him correctly, Abbott had worked for the Ministry for a few years as a glorified clerk in some department or another before assuming the head of his house. His robes were of a traditional cut and appeared far more ceremonial than functional. The cloak that hung from his shoulders seemed to be lined with Hippogriff feathers, while the actual fabric was a pale blue. Sewn onto the back of his cloak was the large family sigil displayed for all to see – a pale tower wrapped in vines.

“Thank you, Minister. I come before the Wizengamot today to raise the issue of the recently proposed legislation that pertains to the House Elf Tax.”

Groans filled the room, and someone had the audacity to call out for Abbott to sit down. Despite it all, Abbott held fast and didn’t rise to any of it.

“Now, I know this discussion isn’t ready for debate quite yet, but I felt it my duty to point out some issues for everyone to think about in the meantime.”

“House Elves are listed under the Ministry as sentient creatures. While they do indeed have their quirks and such, it isn’t for us to tax the _existence_ of these creatures in a family. As it is, they serve our every need and want without complaint. How would this tax effect houses such as Malfoy, Black, or even your own, Chief Warlock? How would this effect institutions that have stood for hundreds of years, like Hogwarts? My daughter will be attending in a number of years, and frankly, I don’t think it worth almost _bankrupting_ the school just to refill our coffers in the short-term.”

With that, the man sat slowly in his chair as the room erupted in response.

“Order, order!” Bagnold called, waiting until the room was silent once again.

“While it was an _odd_ petition, I’ll allow the motion. As it was _unorthodox_ , are there any currently in attendance that would offer a rebuttal or counter-argument at this time?”

The room was silent. There were many months until the legislation was opened for debate and changes in the court, so it came as no surprise to him when the Minister continued through the houses.

“The Ancient and Noble House of Black has the floor,” Bagnold called, almost spitting the name. It was of no surprise, of course – her career had been _drastically_ shortened by the trial months prior. Perhaps he should bring his combat robes in the future, on the off chance she attempted to curse him.

“Thank you, Minister,” he replied as he stood. There were muted whispers throughout the public viewing gallery. Many had expected Arcturus, but they seemed surprised to see Sirius here in his stead. It was a good prank.

“The House of Black, after a number of months in discussions with various houses, would like to formally declare a number of new alliances before the Wizengamot.”

Those whispers turned into full blown conversations now, and he struggled to keep the grin from his face.

“Very well. Lord Arcturus announced in the last session the end of a number of alliances, so I think we’re all interested to hear of your new political position.”

He ignored the lack of respect from Bagnold – he could go back to ruining her career later.

“House Black declares alliance with the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. This is an alliance of politics, trade, and defence.”

Augusta, who sat as the regent for her grandson, stood from her position further down the row to his right.

“I, Augusta Longbottom, regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, do hereby acknowledge and confirm this alliance.”

There was a smattering of noise. He’d purposely chosen to begin with Longbottom for the shock value. If House Black was seen to be close to that house in particular after the escapades of Bellatrix, then there was no telling where they would ally themselves with next. It was brilliant thinking on his grandfather’s part.

“The Wizengamot acknowledges this alliance,” Dumbledore called before Bagnold could say anything. Her face appeared to be turning a few shades of red he hadn’t realised existed before.

“House Black also declares an alliance with the Noble House of McGonagall. This is also an alliance of politics, trade, and defence.”

Minerva stood just below him, not far from Augusta herself and confirmed the alliance. Now for the finale.

“Finally, The Ancient and Noble House of Black _swears allegiance_ to the Ancient and Noble House of _Potter_.”

The room went _wild_. Voices called out. Men and women stomped their feet. One man threw a handful of parchment in the air, and journalists flashed their cameras in his direction. He winked up at those – he had an image to uphold, after all. Somewhere throughout all the racket, a gavel was beaten and promptly ignored.

As he waited for the racket to fade away, he remained standing there, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as his eyes swept the room. It was unheard of for an Ancient and Noble House to swear allegiance to _anyone_. The houses worked on the same structure that they had for hundreds of years – each family held swaths of land, and those that lived on that land were sworn to defend that house in perpetuity. The average family was sworn to a Vassal House, and Vassal Houses were sworn to Noble Houses. The Ancient and Noble Houses were the most powerful of them all, though Noble Houses weren’t sworn to them.

To qualify a family to the status of an Ancient and Noble family, the lineage had to be traced back all the way back to _at least_ the 17th century, not to mention the specific number of Vassals a family had to have. The financial and political power of the family was also a requirement. Unfortunately, over the years, the number of these families were trickling away. As it stood, there were only thirteen left in the entire country. There were _others_ , but they were beyond the reach of this Wizengamot and didn’t direct their attentions to this small colony.

“Order, order!” Bagnold finally managed to call over the din. “Heir Black, you intend to swear _fealty_ to House Potter?” she demanded, ashen faced.

“Aye, Minister – this is the shared desire of myself _and_ Lord Arcturus Black. We swear fealty _in perpetuity_ to the Lord of House Potter, from this day, until the end of our days. We shall keep their counsel, guard their backs and offer our magic in whichever way they require,” Sirius intoned formally, placing his fist over his heart as was required.

“ _Objection_!” A deep voice called from the far side of the room. Ah, someone from _Malfoy_ ’s lot. Excellent.

“The House of Black can’t _possibly_ be allowed to do this, Chief Warlock! Think of the precedent it would set for future generations – we could see the Wizengamot split into familial factions in a way that’s unthinkable!” Augustus Passel cried, his usually sallow and pockmarked complexion flushed a furious colour. If memory served, Passel was a family sworn to the Malfoy family in Wiltshire.

“Heir Black, do you offer any response?” Dumbledore asked, his voice curious.

“I do, Chief Warlock.”

He cleared his throat.

“As many of you know, the House of Black is currently raising the heir to the Potter bloodline. At the end of next month, he will be two years old, and in just shy of a decade, he’ll be attending Hogwarts itself. I am his godfather; his father was my best friend and I think of him as my own son. There is _nothing_ Lord Black and I wouldn’t do for the boy – we just happen to be making it official.”

Sirius grinned back at Passel, who had paled noticeably.

“While it is… _rare_ , for such an agreement between houses, I can think of no reason to object to this motion,” Dumbledore spoke up before anyone could say anything in response. He nodded up at Sirius.

“Motion allowed. The Ancient and Noble House of Black is now sworn to House Potter from this day, until the end of days.”

* * *

The Wizengamot session continued for a number of hours after that, though none of it was nearly as fun. He tried to make for the exit in a _somewhat_ dignified manner once the doors were unsealed, but he was on the fence as to just how dignified it actually looked. His boots clicked against the marble tiles, and his fur-lined cloak billowed in his wake as he made his way through the underbelly of the Ministry. If he could leave now, he could make it in time for Harry’s evening meal and hear about his day.

Luck, as it would turn out, wasn’t on his side.

“Sirius! Sirius Black!” A voice behind him called his name. He came to a halt and stepped against the wall as wizards and witches of every disposition filtered past him. As he turned his head to see who had stopped him, he drew up short.

“Lady Newt, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you for a moment there.”

He truly hadn’t, it had been years since he’d last seen the witch, and even then, he’d been a boy. The woman before him was in her fifties, though you wouldn’t tell from the way she held herself. Her robes were a deep maroon colour, her family sigil proudly displaying the animal her family was named for. Like Arcturus and himself, her robes were function over style – and it wasn’t for the first time that he was reminded of the more modern appearance of what were essentially medieval-styled clothes. Less tights, more leather, as he often said.

“It’s no issue, my Lord,” she huffed; her cheeks rosy. “I was hoping to trouble you for but a moment of your time?” she asked, gesturing to an empty conference room they were stood by. He nodded after a moment before leading her inside.

With a quick flick of his wand, their privacy was ensured, and they could speak freely.

“Lord Black,” she began, though halted when Sirius raised his hand.

“Sirius, please. You’ve known me since I was running about Blackwall Manor naked, I think we can forgo the titles.”

“Ah yes, a habit that you didn’t grow out of until you were halfway through Hogwarts, if I remember rightly,” she chuckled, winking at him. “I’m sure you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, lad.”

Sirius had felt his cheeks heat immediately. He coughed into his fist awkwardly and gestured for her to get to the point, lest he die of embarrassment.

“I had some questions about the little Lord, Sirius. What you did in there was the first time anyone of your position has done so. I and some of the other vassals are wondering just where that leaves _us_.”

“As far as everything goes, there’s no change. When we call upon you, you answer the call to arms. You continue paying your rents through my family and you follow in our political footsteps.”

“Aye, lad, but what about conflict of interest?”

“There’ll be no conflict of interest, Bethany. House Black is no longer the same house it once was. All of our attentions will be focused in supporting House Potter. In that line, it may be worth passing on to the other vassals to _safely_ destroy any dark artifacts you’ve all hoarded over the years-- if you have any, of course,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall as the woman before him paced.

She scoffed, waving a hand through the air. “Please, yours was the darkest of all of us. We’ve none of the artifacts. I shall assume then, that you’re doing a similar purge?”

At Sirius’ nod, she continued pacing back and forth.

“Why now, though? Why not let the lad know when he’s older? Why not hand him over to one of his own vassals?”

“His own sworn families would use him to advance their own standing, and this way, I keep my _godson_ and put any of those ideas firmly in the ground. I have no political aspirations beyond making sure Harry is as happy as he can be. Arcturus is of a like mind.”

“Merlin, the boy already has the two of you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?” she laughed after a moment.

“Quite securely, I’m afraid.”

She nodded after a time, the words having settled something within her. Were many of the other vassals of their house of a like mind? Were they questioning the motivations? He’d have to speak to Arcturus when he returned – as the current lord, he’d be in a unique position to get them to fall in line.

“Now,” he clapped, pushing off from the wall. “If that’s all, I have a godson to get home to. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. You have a good evening, my Lord,” Bethany replied, bowing at the waist as he nodded and stepped from the room.

The previously bustling corridor was noticeably calmer now. Without the press of bodies, he could walk at a much more relaxed pace and calm himself before returning to the manor.

It was a few minutes later when he stepped out onto the main lobby of the Ministry and saw that _awful_ statue that he noticed him. It had been just shy of a year since he’d last seen him, but the other man appeared to have aged at least twice that.

“Sirius! You old dog!” Remus Lupin called, striding up to him, a wolfish grin split across his face. He’d been looking for Remus _bloody_ Lupin since November! Where the hell had he been?

“Remus? What are you doing here? Where have you been? I’ve had Elves out looking for you for months!” Sirius replied, swallowing the man in his strongest embrace. With the death of Prongs and the betrayal of Wormtail, they were the last two Marauders – for now, if Sirius had anything to do with it, at least.

Remus chuckled, patting him on the back before pulling away.

“It took time to break away from the packs on the continent. I came as soon as I could after I heard about the attack.”

Remus’ face lost its smile as the grief threatened to swallow him whole.

“Hey, none of that. We have nobody to blame but Peter. We’ll find the rat, and when we do, he’s nobody’s but _ours_ , understand?”

Remus nodded silently as he stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. He always did enjoy muggle clothes more.

“So, I heard that you made quite the splash in the Wizengamot today,” Remus snickered, raising an eyebrow as he took in Sirius’ robes.

“Teasing me about sitting in a Wizengamot session will earn you an arse kicking the likes of which you haven’t experienced since sixth year, Moony,” Sirius warned, giving him the finger. He slung his other arm around Remus’ shoulders.

“Now, before you say otherwise, you’re staying at the Manor tonight and seeing Prongslet.”

“Oh, I couldn’t imp-“

“It’s not imposing if I’m telling you to get your arse to Blackwall. Now, get some powder and go. I’ll be right behind you.”

He watched as Remus rolled his eyes, before throwing a nearby Ministry House Elf a handful of knuts in exchange for a vial of powder. He repeated the process and watched Remus call out for Blackwall as he was engulfed in the green flames. A few seconds later, Sirius was stepping out of the fireplace in his home as Remus was looking around the room.

“You know, I don’t think any of us came here.”

“James did, on house business once or twice. Charlus and Arcturus were close.”

Sirius shrugged off his cloak and handed it to one of the Elves that appeared. With a pop, it was off again – he could barely tell them apart, besides Lispy and Kreacher. He was half convinced they dressed in each other’s clothes just to confuse him at this point.

“Come, they should be just finishing up,” he said, clapping his friend on the arm as he stepped past him.

Following the sounds of childish laughter through the house was easier than expected, and within a few short moments, they were walking through the door into the family dining room. The room was well lit and held portraits of notable family members throughout their history. What drew his attention, however, was the eighty-year old man attempting to feed a giggling Harry. It seemed he was having more luck in getting the chocolate mousse _around_ Harry’s mouth, rather than in it.

“You’re getting too slow for him in your old age, grandfather,” Sirius chuckled as Remus entered behind him.

Arcturus, to his credit, looked up at Sirius as he said that and got the spoon in Harry’s mouth without even so much as a glance.

“Still quick enough for you, boy.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I see we have a guest.”

“Remus Lupin, Lord Black. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Remus bowed, his voice drawing Harry’s attention immediately.

“Uncle Moony!” Harry cried, practically launching himself out of his chair and charging full-tilt at his honorary uncle.

“Hello, pup! Haven’t you gotten big, eh?” Remus chuckled, kneeling down just as Harry collided with him. They were quiet for a few moments, and Sirius thought he spotted a small tear running down Lupin’s cheek, but decided to keep quiet. He’d been in pieces for _days_ after seeing Harry.

“A pleasure to meet the infamous Moony of the Marauders. I hear you were the brains behind the operation,” Arcturus smirked.

“Well, I wouldn’t claim as much, but I’m Moony, aye.”

“Ah, and humble as well, I see. I like this one, Sirius. Please, sit and eat – you must be starved.”

Sirius made to sit down, leaving a seat between himself and Harry for Remus. Even Harry sat in his chair again without complaint. Within moments, food was placed before the two of them – a medium rare steak with roasted vegetables and peppercorn sauce for Remus, and roast chicken with vegetables and gravy for himself. The two of them began eating almost immediately, with Harry giggling at the gusto with which they ate.

“Now, Remus, may I call you Remus?” Arcturus began, continuing only once he received the nod from his friend. “What can I do to help you?”

Remus audibly swallowed his food in surprise. Sirius slowed his eating and sat back; his brow furrowed in thought. What did Arcturus want from Remus? His Grandfather, until recently had never really been known for his generosity and offering of favours. Arcturus was known as the fearsome and intimidating _Lord Black_. You wanted someone’s day, month, year, or even _life_ ruined, you just made sure they crossed Arcturus.

“My Lord?” he asked, his voice impressively even.

“You’re Sirius’ friend, though I understand you had your differences during the war-“

“That’s the same for anyone, grandfather. We suspected everyone,” Sirius interrupted quickly, his voice soft as he stared at his plate morosely. He felt Remus’ hand on his shoulder and the affectionate squeeze that came with it. He turned his head to see the sad smile he was wearing – he hoped his attempt was half as convincing.

“I don’t blame Sirius for suspecting me. Dumbledore had me on the continent reaching out to… _specific groups_.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at that.

“You mean the werewolf packs, I assume?”

He saw Remus pale frightfully fast. While they had managed to keep it secret for the most part at Hogwarts, it wasn’t so easy to keep it hidden elsewhere. Werewolves were judged and shunned all throughout the magical world for their lycanthropy affliction. Nobody was _born_ with the condition, and nobody really knew where it originated. As such, those afflicted with the curse gained it by having been bitten. Sirius, and by extension, _The Marauders,_ all knew Lupin’s story-- bitten at the age of four by Fenrir Greyback and forced once a month for the rest of his life to become a dangerous animal. It was the whole reason they had all agreed to become _Animagi_ , to keep their friend company during his worst days.

As a result of the social shunning, werewolves were rarely tolerated around other witches and wizards. They were often passed over for jobs and fired immediately once they were discovered. It broke his heart to see his friend suffer through it.

“I-I mean, uh… That is to say,” Remus tried nervously.

“Relax, dear boy – I won’t be throwing you out of my home.”

Arcturus smiled slightly, holding a hand up to relax Remus.

“I merely ask what I can do for you, because you’re family to this young man here,” he added, reaching out a hand to ruffle Harry’s hair. The boy grinned at the mention of his name.

“My Lord,”

“Arcturus, please,” Arcturus interrupted softly.

“ _Arcturus_ , you’ve already done more than enough for me by putting food in my belly and allowing me to spend some time with the pup. Anything else would simply be more than I deserve.”

There was silence after that, the clinking of cutlery on plates the only sound in the room besides Harry’s giggles as he leaned into Moony. Throughout it all, Arcturus absently ran the side of his finger back and forth against his chin, seemingly deep in thought. Knowing Arcturus, he was creating plans for his plans – and then some plans just in case.

Once the food was eaten and the plates popped away by the House Elves, Remus picked Harry up carefully and plonked him on his knee, his scarred face lighting up in joy as he looked at the boy.

“You went to Hogwarts, yes?” Arcturus finally asked, his eyes still shrewdly peering at his friend.

“Aye, one of the best in the year – isn’t that right Moony?” Sirius grinned, remembering just which of them it was that was the brains behind all the many, _many_ pranks.

Remus, on the other hand simply blushed and attempted to shrug off the praise.

“Well, I’m sure there were many other smarter students.”

“Nonsense! You set a record for D.A.D.A, and you were the first of us to manage a corporeal Patronus!” he shot back. Remus merely shrugged.

“I find myself in need of a steward and a tutor. I would offer you these positions. We can arrange a _generous_ salary, monthly doses of _Wolfsbane,_ and we’ll construct a bunker for you to spend one night a month in. Not to mention, outside of your usual duties for the House of Black, you would be close to Harry every day,” Arcturus offered suddenly.

Sirius watched as Remus’ jaw dropped open in shock – this was likely the best job offer he’d ever receive, simply because of what he was.

“I… I don’t quite know what to say,” Remus began, his voice shocked.

“Say yes, you fool!” Sirius grinned, reaching over to take Harry from Moony’s now limp arms. He bounced Harry a little.

“What do you say, pup? Would you like Uncle Moony to stay with us?”

“Stay with us Uncle Moony!” Harry cried, clapping his hands together happily.

Remus looked at the two of them for a moment, his eyes growing shiny before he rapidly blinked the oncoming tears away with a light sniff.

“I,” he began, his voice cracking a little. “I would be honoured, Lord Black.”

“Excellent!” Arcturus clapped, a grin on his face as his eyes twinkled happily. “You start tomorrow, and I’ll spend the day explaining your duties to you.”

Harry yawned in his arms and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Welcome to the family, Remus. Let me just put this one to bed, and we’ll celebrate!” Sirius grinned, standing as Harry tucked himself into his shoulder and wrapped his little arms around his neck.

All in all, it had been a bloody _brilliant_ day, he thought.


	5. Arcturus IV

The knock on his door drew his attention momentarily from the piece of parchment he was writing on. For how hidden their world was, being the head of a Noble Family still seemed to warrant a large amount of paperwork and offerings of business-ventures. The Ancient and Noble House of Black had investments all over the world, in both the muggle and magical markets.

Not so many years ago, before the hunts and the mobs, the two societies lived in an uneasy peace. Even so, as the years passed on and as the Wizarding society withdrew from the world stage, they kept their money in circulation through both markets, though now it all travelled through the Goblin Nation via the various Gringotts branches dotted across the globe. There were none so crafty and savvy with gold as Goblins.

“Enter,” Arcturus called, continuing to scratch his response to Castor Greengrass. There was a business opportunity that had come to his attention that very morning concerning supplies. Greengrass could supply the ingredients, while the House of Black would supply the labour and storage - for a generous share of the profits, of course. The sooner the missive was sent, the quicker he could increase the standing of the Black and Potter families.

The door clicked open, and after a quick glance, he spotted Remus Lupin in the doorway – his suit appeared a little worn and of lower quality, though with the prejudice against his kind, it wasn’t unexpected. Werewolves were unfortunately some of the less looked after citizens of their world, though it didn’t escape him that it was mostly a Ministry stance, rather than a worldview.

Other countries, such as Russia and the United States actively treated their afflicted as equal citizens. Of course, the bigotry still persisted, as it always would. Unfortunately, the human race was still as moronic as ever.

“Sit, please,” Arcturus said, feeling the corners of his mouth lift slightly. Once the man was seated, there were a few quiet moments as he finished his sentence before he sprinkled a little sand on the page to dry out the ink. Looking up once the page was set aside neatly, he reclined in his chair, one silver brow raised as he took the man in before him properly.

“Do you understand the duties that will be asked of you as a Steward?” he asked after a moment.

“I admit, I find myself in a bit of a quandary, my lord. It was never in any of the texts at Hogwarts, and with the war…”

“Understandable, given everything that’s happened.” Arcturus nodded to himself as he leant forward in his chair and crossed his arms before him on the desk. His gaze on Remus was intent. “You will be acting as my right-hand. As such, you will be responsible for managing my estates and household, and in the event that Sirius or I are away, you shall be in charge of anyone and anything in my employ. If I ask it of you, you shall also represent the interests of House Black in any financial or business ventures alongside myself or Sirius. As of this afternoon, you will also have permission to withdraw items and currency from the Black Vaults as needed.”

Remus sat there for a moment, his mouth attempting to work but no sound came out.

“Do any of these responsibilities fall outside of your teachings at Hogwarts?” he asked after a moment. Remus shook his head slowly. “Excellent. Now, in addition to these responsibilities, you will also be required to instruct my Ward, Harry James Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter until such as time as he is expected to attend Hogwarts. You are to instruct him in reading, writing, our society and etiquette. More lessons will be added as required or deemed necessary. You may also hire any experts you may feel are needed to assist you in this.”

“When would you want these lessons to begin?” Remus asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Not for another month or so. I want to give you time to settle in and develop a lesson structure for me to look over.”

“Very well, that seems reasonable.” Remus smiled. From what Sirius had told him over the years, Remus had always aspired to be a teacher – it seemed only right to him that he be given this opportunity.

“Now, your salary,” Arcturus began, leaning forward and retrieving a Gringott’s Writ from a draw.

Writs were essentially pieces of parchment that Witch or Wizard could take to a bank. As long as the signatures were approved, they would be given the amount of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts described. Apparently, it was an idea the Goblins had gotten from the Muggles.

“How does a monthly salary of five-hundred galleons a month sound? This doesn’t include the extra stipend for clothes… and your Wolfsbane, of course.”

“My Lord… That is too much, surely,” Remus began, sitting up in alarm.

“Nonsense, Remus. You’re the Steward of House Black – we shall pay you accordingly!”

“But, most _families_ can get by on that much for _six months_!”

“Most families aren’t serving House Black, Remus.” He reminded him gently, waving a hand dismissively at his concerns. He carried on as he wrote the amount and signed the parchment. “Besides, I’m asking more of you than most Stewards are ever asked for. You will be managing the estates, providing financial and business advice while _also_ tutoring a child. This is the least I can offer.” Arcturus responded, already writing down the amount and signing the parchment.

Remus slumped in his chair, running a tired hand down his face before nodding slowly. “If it pleases you, my lord.”

“Excellent!” he replied, rolling the parchment up before melting a bit of wax and affixing it with his seal. “Now, your quarters. Traditionally, a Steward would be housed separately from the family, but I think placing you near Harry would be for the best – the room opposite, do you think?”

The family wing of the house was a long corridor just around the corner from the study he was in currently. It had the capacity to house six family members in large, spacious rooms. Currently, he himself held the Master bedroom – situated at the far end, and Sirius held the next largest – to the right of his room, as was befitting the heir. Next to Sirius’ was Harry’s and opposite his would-be Lupin’s. In the history of his house, there had never been a Steward housed with the family.

“Thank you, Lord Black. _Truly_.”

“Nonsense, Lupin, the lad considers you an uncle. As far as this family is concerned, you’re his family. Perhaps one day, you’ll be his Steward, hm?” Arcturus smirked.

“Oh, I don’t know about _that_.” Remus chuckled, “I’d be an old dog by then, I’m sure.”

“Well, don’t count it out just yet, lad. Now, lets get the oath out of the way and we can continue discussing a few things.” He grunted as he stood, his muscles tense after poring over the papers. He had been at it for a number of hours and had enjoyed the sun rising on his back – while it was still early in the morning, he found that as he got older, he required less sleep. Perhaps it was his age, or simply the ghosts of his past not letting him get a full night anymore. Either way, it gave him more time to focus on the family, and the legacy he would leave Sirius and Harry – there was always work to be done.

“I, Arcturus Black ask you to pledge your loyalty to House Black, to serve as our Steward, and to come to our aid whenever called upon.”

Remus stood also, before getting down on bent knee, his head bowed.

“I, Remus Lupin, do so swear to serve the House of Black faithfully and to offer my wand in times of conflict.”

“Stand,” Arcturus instructed, watching as Remus stood. “Welcome to the family, Remus.” He offered his hand and grinned as Remus clasped it firmly. He gestured to the seat opposite his own once more. “Now, onto the secrets of my house. Would you like a drink at all? I feel we may remain here for some time.”

Remus inclined his head slightly. “I wouldn’t mind some tea, Lord Black.”

“ _Please_ , as long as we have no guests, it’s Arcturus. Woopy!” He called, smiling softly at the Elf who appeared beside him. Woopy wore the pristine Black Rayon uniform, the sigil of the family proudly displayed on the front and back of the tunic.

“Master Arctury calls for Woopy, sir? How may Woopy serve?”

“Some tea for Remus and I, please. Thank you, Woopy.”

“Woopy glad to serve, Master Arctury, sir.” With that, the Elf bowed and with a snap of his fingers and a little pop of air, the creature was gone. Moments he returned with a tray of two fine-china cups, some cream, sugar and a pot of tea.

“That will be all, Woopy.” Arcturus said, moving to serve the tea himself. Woopy bowed and was gone again in an instant. “How do you like yours?”

“Cream and two sugars, please.” Remus smiled, muttering a quick thanks once the tea was handed to him. Arcturus himself preferred his black with a single teaspoon of sugar.

“Now,” Arcturus began after a sip. “We have a number of things to cover. Where would you like to begin? The estate, our businesses, our politics or the tyke? I understand all of this has been rather sudden.”

“I suppose the estate would be the best place to start as that will be my primary focus, correct?”

“Right you are. Very well, House Black owns a number of estates across many countries. Some are rented, while others are left empty for family use. For example, while we’re in the ancestral home, Sirius grew up in London at twelve Grimmauld Place. It will be your duty to routinely check on these properties to make sure nothing untoward is going on. If you find anything that requires fixing, make a note of it and simply let me know.”

Remus nodded, setting his own cup in his lap as he crossed his legs. “That seems fairly straight forward.”

“Indeed. It will be one of the easier tasks you’ll have. We’ll schedule regular visits once a year, I believe. This will include our foreign properties as well. Portkeys will be provided for you, of course. Any questions so far?”

Remus shook his head, a gentle smile on his face.

“Very well. As for your duties here, you shall essentially just be making sure there is food in the house and making sure the House Elves are happy and provided for. When we have guests, you will assign rooms and will be the first point of contact for them. We also need to go over any specifics for your shelter during transformations. We could have it underground and hidden, or simply disillusioned. Which would you prefer?”

“I would rather it be underground, if that’s at all possible. Sound-proofed as well – I wouldn’t want to give Harry any nightmares.”

“All easily done. Now, in this house there are six Elves. Get to know them and understand them. Milpy is our Head Elf, Woopy is our cook, Lispy is Harry’s Nanny and Goldey is our gardener. Kreacher and Deeny fill in where it’s needed and have no specific role. Milpy is excellent at managing them all, so most of your contact will be with her, though feel free to call any as needed.”

Remus nodded as Arcturus handed him a piece of parchment with the information on that he’d taken the time to note down earlier.

“Now, our businesses. We have investments throughout the muggle and magical world, and for the most part they go through me or Sirius – we also have a number of philanthropic ventures as well, such as donating money towards Hogwarts, Ilvermorny, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Castelobruxo to name a few. We deal in wand materials, potions and alchemy ingredients, property and metals.”

“If I require it of you, you’ll join me at meetings, or represent the family with Gringotts. If you face any issues, or don’t understand a particular subject, simply inform me and we’ll work through it together. In time, I expect you’ll also be able to ask Sirius as I teach him. Though I think it rare you’ll need to worry about this part of your duties.” Arcturus smiled. “Any questions?”

“How much of your capital is invested in our world in comparison to the muggle world?” Remus asked, stroking his chin with a finger thoughtfully.

“Interesting you should ask. It’s mostly in the magical world, though about 37% of our income is generated in the muggle markets.” Arcturus nodded to himself as he reclined in his chair, the leather creaking. He placed his hands on the arm of the chair and crossed his legs. “We also own a number of shops in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Cardiff’s Bazaar, a few properties in Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow and other communities in the country. These are fairly self-sufficient, however.” He shrugged.

“Very well. I was just curious.”

“Now, the last two items we should discuss for now are based on the same thing. Harry. You may have heard when you met Sirius yesterday, but House Black has sworn fealty to House Potter in perpetuity. Our wands and politics are now _his_. Our stance is that we shall be his most loyal supporters – we shall be the first to offer our wands in conflict and the first to back him in the Wizengamot.”

Remus sat there for a time, simply staring with a look of absolute shock on his face. “You swore _fealty_?”

Arcturus nodded solemnly, “We did. There were a number of reasons for it, but essentially it made sense. After all, we are raising the lad. Any of his own vassals would use the opportunity to advance themselves. After the war…” Arcturus trailed off, sighing heavily as he did so.

“I was ill for a number of years, Remus. In my illness, my family tore itself apart and swore allegiance to the Dark Lord. If I had been healthier, younger, perhaps, it may not have happened. As it was, Orion, wed Walburga without my permission or consent. Before I knew what had happened, they were wed and Walburga was pregnant with Sirius,” he paused before confessing, “I am trying to correct my mistakes, Remus.”

Silence engulfed the room. The chirping of the birds in the distance seemed to reverberate in the room.

Remus, it seemed, was allowing him a moment to gather himself. If it had been the Steward his father had employed, he may have thought he’d use his words against him later on. As it was, from what Sirius had told him over the years, and from what he’d seen of the man last night, Arcturus had no such suspicions about Lupin.

“Harry is the key to everything I hope for this family. He’s a kind, gentle boy – but he has such _power_ , Remus. This is why he needs to begin his lessons soon. Not so long ago, Harry summoned his toys to his hand - _wandless_ and _silently_. I’ve never heard or seen such a thing in one so young.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t Sirius playing a prank?” Remus asked, leaning forwards in his chair now, his cup placed back on the silver tray between them.

“He was busy levitating something else,” Arcturus replied, shaking his head slowly. “It was pure, directed intent.”

“But how-“ Remus muttered, his brows furrowing.

“We shall take a trip in a few years, when he’s older. We’ll be going _home_ for the first time in years for a while. You may choose to join us, or you can remain here – the decision will be yours, but we shall take him before the Council and see what they think of him.”

“ _Home_? You don’t mean the myths are true, surely!”

“All myths have a grain of truth in them. During this time, we shall take him to the Potter seat in Wales for him to claim his birthright.”

Remus slumped back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples in slow circles as he blew out a sigh. “Why? Why and _how_ are you taking him there?” He asked after a moment.

“Why? We need to understand what he’s capable of and teach him accordingly. As for the how? Well, there are some secrets that not even you may know. Nevertheless, we have the means and the ability to travel there.”

“Is there anything else I thought to be myth or legend that I should know about?” Remus asked after a moment.

“Not off the top of my head.” Arcturus chuckled. “Families as old as the Blacks have many secrets, Remus. Just know that there are a great many things about our world you’re yet to learn. However, we’ve gotten away from the topic at hand. Once we know how we can provide for him, he needs to learn control – I’ll not have any accidental magic in this house if we can help it.”

“That makes the most sense, I suppose. I’ll teach him some simple breathing exercises to begin with, starting tomorrow.”

“Excellent! I’m in the process of arranging with Augusta Longbottom a playdate for Harry. I should be expecting a reply in a day or two. I want you to supervise this, as I’ll need Sirius. I want to propose a business deal with Castor Greengrass and begin making headway into a possible alliance sometime in the future. I hear he has a daughter of Harry’s age.”

“You mean for a betrothal?” Remus gasped. Arcturus chuckled.

“No, nothing like that. Harry needs _friends_. Not three grown men. I wouldn’t want him to go to Hogwarts when he’s eleven and not know anyone. When he comes of age, he’ll have the full weight of every alliance I can make behind him – he needs allies and more importantly, _friends_ to keep him grounded.”

Remus nodded at that. “Very well. Is there anything that needs my attention today?”

“Not today, no. However, go to _Twilfitt and Tatting’s_ and tell them I sent you. Get yourself plenty of clothes and tell them to forward me the bill. We need to get you dressed for your position – you’re a member of House Black now, son.” Arcturus chuckled, watching as Remus nodded and excused himself from the room.

Just as Remus placed his hand on the handle of the door however, the man paused and turned to look at Arcturus, a small smile on his lips. “Lord Black – Arcturus… Thank you for the chance to watch Harry grow and be a part of his life. It means more to me than you could ever imagine.”

“The honour is mine, Remus. Welcome to the family.” He nodded, allowing his lips to lift just enough as he nodded. Remus bowed momentarily before he stepped out of the room.

* * *

“Kreacher, please inform Sirius and Remus that I’ll be out for a few hours. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner,” Arcturus called as he shrugged on his fur-lined cloak and attached the clasps to the leather armour he had donned.

He wasn’t _planning_ to need the armour, but since the dissolution of their previous alliances, as well as their newfound allies, he thought it prudent to be prepared – it had actually been one of Sirius’ more reasonable ideas.

The armour, while plain and unassuming, was actually _covered_ in protective enchantments. If he was caught unaware, the armour would give him a moment or two to either retaliate, get cover to escape – all things that were unlikely if he weren’t wearing it.

There were other items of protection he was wearing as well, such as the steel gorget embellished with his house sigil in fine detail, the dragonhide knee-high boots, the light mithril chainmail under the armour, and a pair of steel-plated leather arm-guards – the one on his right arm also containing his Blackthorn wand. Of course, he wasn’t only armed with his wand – he also had a pair of silver daggers, one on his belt – next to a finely forged Goblin dagger and another silver blade in his left boot.

Far too many wizards and witches throughout history, even in today’s uncertain times, had been killed or fallen prey to their enemies by being un-prepared. It was now an unspoken rule for the House of Black to wear armour and be sufficiently armed when venturing into public, even Remus and Harry would have to adopt this approach.

“Yes, Master Arcturus,” Kreacher replied, bowing so low that his large hooked nose was practically skimming the floor.

With his preparations sufficiently complete, Arcturus nodded to himself and blew out a breath. He could feel his hair tickling the tops of his shoulders where the few loose strands had managed to slip between his armour and clothes. He’d pulled his hair into its usual efficient style, the sides and top pulled back and tied into a knot at the back of his head, while the rest of it fell neatly. It was a common enough style throughout the wizarding world, particularly in the _older_ families as it was a reminder of their origins. Just because he was _admittedly_ dressed for war didn’t mean that he couldn’t be _presentable_.

With a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fireplace and called, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

In seconds, he was walking out of the fireplace and into the dingy and dark room that was the Leaky Cauldon’s main room. Tables and chairs were full of patrons – some, in their regular clothing of robes, be they leather, cloth or something else entirely. Was that steel plate armour he could see in the back? _Interesting_. It also seemed a number of Aurors were in attendance, chatting and eating in small groups – no doubt eating their lunch, or trying to squeeze in some mead or butterbeer on a short break.

As he finished sweeping his eyes across the room and dusted off a slight amount of ash from his clothing, it seemed someone had noticed his presence.

“M’lord Black! An honour to meet you, M’lord!” A pimple covered man called as he shot to his feet. He had to forcibly keep his face neutral as the overwhelming smell of body odour, rotting teeth and alcohol wafted up his nose. It was terribly hard. He wanted to do nothing but grimace at the scent. As soon as his name was called, however, the entire room stood and bowed to a chorus of “M’lord!”. He fought the urge to sigh.

“Good day. _Please_ , enjoy your food and drink – I’m just passing through. Tom!” he called to the well-known barkeep.

“M’lord?” the toothless, ancient man asked, nervously passing a cloth from one hand to the other from his position behind the bar.

“A drink for every patron in here – my way of apologising for disturbing their day. Send me the invoice this evening!” A chorus of cheers, clapping and stomping followed him out the back of the building as he approached Diagon Alley, the largest of all the wizarding shopping districts in the United Kingdom.

Most cities had a shopping district of some kind, though if you were to compare them to Diagon Alley, it would be like comparing the muggle _Champs-Élysées_ in Paris to a regular muggle _High Street_ , or whatever it was they called them. However, he had no intention of going into Diagon-proper.

One of his many, many informants throughout the wizarding world had, just this morning, informed him of a plot he was most unhappy to hear of. He could have apparated from his study, however he didn’t want to startle the young boy before he went for his playdate with the Longbottom boy. He was pleased with how quickly Augusta had gotten back to him in regards to that – the letter had arrived the day after his conversation with Remus and had been the first _official_ missive the young man had passed to him in his duties as Steward. The no-nonsense woman had given the following day, today, her approval for a number of hours in the afternoon, and so hopefully tonight at dinner, Harry would share news of his first friend.

With a flick of his wrist, his Blackthorn and Thunderbird Tail Feather wand slapped into his awaiting palm. He smiled at the weapon in his hand slightly, for that was exactly what the item in his hand was – a weapon. He had been surprised on his eleventh birthday when his father had taken him to _Ollivanders_ and been told the make-up of the wand that had chosen him – he’d spent the next fortnight researching all he could on the properties of it. The Blackthorn wood was most associated with warrior-wizards, or _Battlemages_ as they were most often referred to in the many, many texts society had published over the years. While he had never fought in the _Blood War_ , as he’d been confined to a bed for _years_ , he had fought in the _Global Wizarding War_ in a number of battlefields as a young man. He had seen it as his duty to protect their way of life, and had fought here in Britain, France, Romania and even in Germany alongside Albus Dumbledore. He had even witnessed the clash between the two opposing leaders in 1945.

What a sight that had been – two of the greatest sorcerers clashing in an all-out duel to decide the fate of their world. The screams of cries of that particular battlefield had remained with him for years. The ground had been soaked with blood and entrails, curses had outright blasted the earth into a disgusting, pock-marked mess while curses flew every which way. Bodies had lain there, either still and un-moving, or in pieces all around. There had been so many that had taken part in that battle – everyone knew it was the battle to decide the fate of the war, and not a single person had held back.

 _Bombarda_ s _, Diffindos, Reductos,_ and countless others had thrown the world into chaos around him. He had just blasted a blonde witch’s head from her shoulders – he could even recall her garish pink trench coat –, when the cheering had begun. The battlefield had come to complete stop, everyone turning to watch Dumbledore and Grindelwald battle. The spells he’d born witness to still amazed him to this day, though he had no intention of attempting to repeat any – they were far too much for even his own impressive power.

Then, just as soon as it had begun, it was over. In the years that followed, the _Acolytes_ , for that was the name of Grindelwald’s followers, had been hunted down wherever they were found – though many were rumoured to have been The Dark Lord’s initial followers once he had begun his own rise to power.

With a quick, encompassing swish of his wand, Arcturus cast a quick and temporary _Silencio_ before putting his wand away. A booming _Crack_ later, he found himself stood in Godric’s Hollow in the village centre.

Godric’s Hollow was one of the smaller wizarding communities in the west-country of England, named for one of the founders of Hogwarts, Godric Gryffindor. Even hundreds of years later, the village remained just that – a village. Quaint and un-assuming, while never growing any more than a mile or two in diameter. Throughout history, some of the most noteworthy men and women had been born and raised here; Albus Dumbledore, Godric Gryffindor, Ignotus Peverell was buried here – one of the _Brothers Three_ , and most recently, Harry James Potter.

It was for that very reason that he was here.

The village looked breath-taking in the middle of June, with the warm summer sun and a comfortable, gentle breeze gently nudging his cloak. The flowers were in full bloom, and the cobblestone paths appeared new. All about there were couples moving this way and that, either hand-in-hand or comfortably at one-another’s side.

There were children, also. Of all ages. He hadn’t heard so many children laughing and playing in such a long time. Nobody would think a war had been ended here not so long ago. He smiled as he saw a group of boys – no older than fourteen, charge down a street towards him after a little golden snitch that bobbed and weaved in the air.

Paying him no mind as he stepped from their path, he looked around for a moment. He hadn’t been to the Hollow in many years and for a moment was confused. It took only a few seconds, but once he had righted himself, he was off.

Men and women looked at him curiously – the entire village was a magical community, many of which were from old families, though none resided here from the Noble families off the top of his head as this was all Peverell land – a long dead family, whom the Goblins refused to announce the successors to. There was a long-standing argument between the Goblin Nation and the Ministry of Magic to declare the Peverell successor so that the land and families could be divided up within the Wizengamot. According the Goblins, a successor family _had_ been declared, and a contract prevented them from announcing it, though they had announced that the family was active within the Wizengamot. Whoever it was, the family seemed determined to keep it to themselves for the time being – perhaps there was a reason. In either case, the Ministry contested it at least once a decade, but it meant little to himself. The Blacks didn’t own it, and no Black had ever married into the Peverell family to his knowledge, which was extensive.

Despite the stares and curious whispers of a wizard in full armour, he remained unbothered by the locals as he made his way through the village. All around, houses had ivy climbing the cottages, small businesses had their wares proudly on display, and potted plants sat in windows offering as much colour as they could. He heard the sound before he saw what he was looking for.

Coming out of a small street, he stopped and stared at a mixture of Dwarves and humans in practical clothing – all hefting tools of some sort as they bustled back and forth in front of the blasted remains of a cottage.

He approached the group as a whole with his magic rolling off of him in waves. Furious didn’t even _begin_ to cover how he felt.

The wizards must have sensed him, as each one stopped what they were doing and turned in his direction. Some panicked and reached for their wands, holding them in trembling fingers while the Dwarves looked on in confused silence – their own tools held casually in their hands.

“Bloody ‘ell Mick, that’s wizard armour!” one of the men called, nervously casting a glance at the man – Mick – next to him.

“Shut up!” Mick snapped, a clipboard tucked under one arm and a wand that was nervously shaking in the other. “State your business, stranger!” he called out to Arcturus as his voice cracked.

“Which one of you is in charge here?” Arcturus snapped, his magic _begging_ him to release it.

“I am, but what’s it to you?” a large, rotund man announced, pushing to the front as a Dwarf followed him in his wake – he assumed that was his Dwarven counterpart.

“It is my business because I asked. Now, just _what_ do you think you’re doing to that cottage?” he growled dangerously, barely restraining the magic that threatened to slip out from his fingers.

“Ministry business.” Was the gruff, uninterested response.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, nor do I care. Leave before I call the Aurors, you up-jumped shit.” As the man turned to walk away, Arcturus stepped into his face, his wand out and held to the man’s quivering jowls. The amount the point sank into the loose, dangly and sweaty flesh almost caused him to gag. The man was almost wider than he was tall.

“Boss, that’s _Lord Black_ you just insulted!” A new voice called – it seemed someone had recognised his sigil. The mound of flesh in front of him paled _considerably_.

“Ah, erm, well, m’lord, I– “ he attempted, visibly sweating.

“You shall halt all work on this building _now_.” He called out, loud enough for all around him to hear.

Immediately tools were dropped, and wands were put away. Drawing a wand on a member of a Noble family was a heavy punishment for any found guilty. Punishments ranged from heavy fines, all the way to _Azkaban_ if the noble was particularly vicious. Nobody wanted to go to _Azkaban_.

Choruses of “Yes M’lord!” rang out across the street. The Dwarves were the first to lay down their tools, seemingly already aware of just who he was. It was no surprise that they hadn’t said anything – any opportunity to stick it to Ministry employees was practically part of the species culture at this point.

“Show me what you’ve done. _Now,_ ” Arcturus demanded, shoving the disgusting man away from him, and pointing to the head Dwarf.

“Yes, Lord Black. If you’ll follow me,” the Dwarf answered, bowing at the waist. All around, the Dwarves received scowls and angered stares. Choosing a creature over a fellow witch or wizard was considered an insult. _Good_. It was intended to be one.

The Dwarf, who didn’t provide a name, gestured for him to follow. They stood outside of a blasted cottage, where half the roof was missing and whatever remained was charred black. The stench of black magic permeated the air so much that he could taste it on his tongue.

The door was blasted off of its hinges, laying in three separate pieces along the hallway. From his position directly through the once-front door, he could see into the lounge, where it appeared a small battle had taken place. The coffee table was on its side, with a dozen scorch marks and chunks of varnished oak missing. Small groupings of dark, dried blood stained an otherwise pale green carpet just behind it, though more appeared on the sofa just beyond the makeshift cover.

He knew then that this is where James Charlus Potter died.

He ignored the Dwarf and stepped into the room, allowing his imagination to run wild with the possibilities of the boy’s final moments. Turning his head over his shoulder, he could see a number of similar scorch marks and various amounts of damage to the doorway. At least James had put up a fight.

He stepped toward the small table, barely large enough for someone to hide behind and touched it gently.

 _“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off_ – _“_

Arcturus gasped and stumbled away from the table. An echo had remained. He couldn’t witness the final moments, of course, but he could _hear_ them. The shock of it settled over him for a moment.

It wasn’t common knowledge, though it had happened a number of times throughout history – Magicals, for it didn’t matter their species or gender, could sometimes leave a _trace_ of a thought or feeling at the sight of their death. It took extreme emotions and a _lot_ of power to do so and was often done accidentally – just as James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter had done.

Finally recovering from the onslaught of emotions that took over him, he stepped towards the table once again, before taking a knee and placing his hand firmly on the wood this time. He closed his eyes, focusing his magic on the wood and released it.

In his mind’s eye, he was in the room, standing over James as he took cover. On the far side of the room was the dark hooded cloak and glowing red eyes of _Voldemort_. The creature, for that is what he had become, hissed spell after spell at Potter, almost playing with him.

James lay on the floor between the table legs, his wand firmly clenched in his grasp. His wild hair was matted with blood from half a dozen cuts, and his glasses were skewed. He was also clutching his side – ah, so that’s where the blood had come from.

 _“For Harry…”_ James whispered to himself, _“For Harry.”_

James jumped, his wand flicking this way and that as he sent curse after curse in a steady stream of attacks at his opponent, eventually getting a grunt of pain from the Dark Lord himself. It appeared things may have been turning in his favour, until Arcturus spotted something from the corner of his eye.

From the shadows of the bay window, he watched a common garden rat transform into a stunted, pox-ridden wizard. Peter Pettigrew! It seemed James had also spotted the transformation, though was far more stunned than Arcturus.

 _“Wormt_ – _”_ James began, the words frozen on his lips as the burst of green light from Peter’s wand struck him in the chest. The impact threw him back against the far wall, only to fall in a heap on the sofa – his eyes were empty and unfocused.

Arcturus was back to himself with a jolt. While he had never doubted Sirius, it was good to _know_ that it had indeed been Pettigrew.

With a deep, shaky breath, Arcturus stood and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. James had been a fine lad and would have been a good father. It was a shame that he had fallen to betrayal – the world was lesser for it. With a final nod to the room, Arcturus turned on his heel and made his way to the stairs.

“My Lord, the upper floor isn’t secure!” the Dwarf called after him. He ignored him.

The upstairs was in even more a state than the lounge. It appeared as if a tornado had gone through the place indiscriminately. He stepped over mounds of rubble, edged around holes in the floor that allowed him glimpses of the floor below him and ducked under the large heavy wooden beams.

The room at the end of the corridor was in the worst state, though the décor hinted at it once being a nursery. He knew, most, if not all of Harry’s belongings had been removed from the room and now resided in his room at Blackwall, but to _see_ the remains of the room was something else entirely.

How long had the child been here on his own before he had been retrieved? How long had he sat in his crib, and wept for the mother who lay still, un-moving and lifeless at his feet? He shuddered involuntarily.

He ducked under a half-fallen doorway and gazed in horror at the room. It appeared as if a gentle breeze would collapse it all in moments. The taste of the black magic was the most potent here – it overwhelmed his tongue, mind and soul. There was also a sense of… pain, anguish… _loss_? It felt far too different for it to have been Harry’s fledgling emotions, neither was it dark enough to be Voldemort or maternal enough to be Lily’s. _Strange_.

The room was free of any blood as far as he could tell, for which he was thankful for. He thought for a moment about attempting the same feat of magic as he had in the lounge but thought better of it. While he was interested in what happened to the Dark Lord, he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing a wand levelled at the boy and the killing curse hitting him.

He knelt among the wreckage for a moment, dusting aside small chunks of wood and brick as his knee sank into the same pale green carpet that he’d seen downstairs. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, feeling the enormity of being in this place. The deaths of the Potters would haunt this village for a long time, he felt.

After a few quiet moments of contemplation, he sent a quick prayer to _Tora_ and _Emis_ , the Goddess of Life and the God of Death ,for the souls of James and Lily Potter before, standing up and leaving.

Once he was back down the stairs, and before the assembled workers he’d been looking for, he levelled a steely gaze at each and every last one of them – all shrank in on themselves.

“You will explain what you were doing here, and you will explain it _now,_ ” he growled dangerously.

“M’lord, we were o-ordered to convert the c-cottage into a memorial by Minister B-Bagnold. The land’s been claimed by the M-Ministry,” a nervous, middle-aged wizard called as he twisted his cap between his hands nervously.

“Consider your orders rescinded. This dwelling belongs to House Potter, and the House of Black will defend our Lord’s lands with force if need be. Now, leave.”

“Yes M’lord” was echoed here and there among the small crowd. The Dwarves merely nodded and shrugged before moving to pack up their tools and supplies.

He stood there, watching until the last of the workers departed one way or another before stepping into the middle of the street and _Disapparating_ away with a crack that shook the nearby windows.

When he arrived at the entrance to the Ministry on Diagon Alley, the shocked looks on those around him barely registered. It was no surprise that the two red-robed Aurors levelled their wands at him.

“Announce yourself!” one of them announced, the tip of his wand held steadily at the centre of his chest. All around him, people scrambled out of the way. Perhaps wearing his armour wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.

“Lord Arcturus Black. I require an audience with Minister Millicent Bagnold immediately.” Arcturus replied, holding his hands out to his side to allay their – justified – fears.

“Do you have any proof that you _are_ Lord Arcturus Black?” the second Auror demanded, a step further away from her partner so she could cover both with her wand. Standard procedure.

“I’m wearing my family ring,” he replied easily, holding his right hand before his face and turning it so the signet ring was clearly visible – the silver serpent coiled intricately in the metal around his finger.

Both Aurors nodded at the sight of it. Family rings could only be worn by the head of the family and the heir, of course – to do otherwise would cause the family magic to defend itself, usually at the cost of whichever fool had attempted to wear the ring.

“Very well Lord Black, if you’ll make your way inside, someone will be available to see to your needs,” the first of the Aurors said, bowing as they both holstered their wands.

A voice in the crowd behind him called out, “Why does _he_ get to skip the queue? We’ve been waiting for hours!”

“Shut up, you idiot! That’s Lord Arcturus Black!” another voice hissed. “Not even You-Know-Who dared to approach him!”

That wasn’t _entirely_ accurate.

Representatives from the Dark Lord’s followers had approached him many times over the years – some when he was ill, others when he was healthy. In the early years of the Dark Lord’s rise, there had been a number that had outright _begged_ him to put his family behind their Lord, but he refused each and every one. The House of Black would _not_ betray the ideals it was built upon for some up-jumped shit – not while _he_ was the head of the family.

Unfortunately, it was during one of his long, protracted illnesses when he had heard of the news of his family’s betrayal. Individual members of his family pledging support to this Lord of theirs, taking his brand on their arms proudly. If only he had been younger and healthier!

Ignoring the voices around him, he stepped forward through the entrance into the Ministry and briefly cast his eyes about the dark tiled floor and ceiling, with its many arches and marble pillars. Across every surface, there was a gold trim that was garish to the eye but was meant to impress upon the visitor the greatness and the wealth of the Ministry of Magic. No wonder he got letters once a year asking for a loan from them.

As he walked along the long entrance corridor, he saw the occasional burst of green flames from the huge Floos that lined the entire corridor. After each burst, a wizard or witch would emerge, striding off to whatever task they needed to complete. Snapping his eyes to the front once again, he caught sight of the monstrosity which took up the centre of the atrium.

There, in marble and gold was the infamous Fountain of Magical Brethren, with its gold statues depicting a wizard, with his wand pointed in the air, a witch, a Centaur, a Goblin and a House Elf. It never failed to escape his notice that the wizard and witch were elevated above the other races, as if they were better. He’d met plenty Centaurs, Goblins, Dwarves and House Elves that were far more pleasant and better educated than scores of witches and wizards.

As he walked past it, he purposefully tore his eyes from it and walked to the desk at the front.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, how can I help you today?” a young witch asked, her voice pleasant but bored. As his eyes darted about her face, he would have to guess she had recently graduated from Hogwarts.

“Lord Arcturus Black here to speak to Minister Bagnold. Immediately,” he replied, ignoring the fact all work around him suddenly stopped.

Apparently, it seemed he had a bit of a reputation.

“C-certainly, Lord Black. If you could just take a seat for a moment while I let the Minister know?” she asked hopefully, wincing when he rose an eyebrow at her. He made her sweat for a moment before nodding sharply and took a seat nearby.

It was five minutes later, in which he’d spent a fair chunk of that time simply watching the people around him, when he heard his name called. “Lord Black? The Minister will see you now. I just have to ask for your wand – for security, of course.”

He turned his head to see a young man in a sharply tailored suit looking at him with his hand outstretched, waiting for his wand. He noticed his face was appeared as if it had been pinched at birth, with a large forehead and hair so slicked, he was shocked it wasn’t sliding off of his head.

“Your name, lad?” Arcturus asked as he stood up. He noticed he was taller than the _boy_ by half a head.

“Augustus Ironbark, of House Ironbark, My Lord. Personal Secretary to Minister Bagnold,” Augustus replied, smiling at his own self-importance.

“Ironbark… Sworn to House Crouch if I’m not mistaken?” Arcturus asked, his hands clasped together before him casually.

“Yes, Lord Black.”

“Excellent. Now, if I hear another word from you, I expect your head would look fantastic on a pike in front of Blackwall Manor. Do not presume to demand my wand from me, _boy_. Remove yourself from my presence immediately and tell your _Lord_ that his slight against my house _hasn’t_ been forgotten.”

The boy stood there for a moment, paling as Arcturus’ words sunk in as each word cut deeper and deeper in its delivery. Indeed, there would be a reckoning for House Crouch, and if this up-jumped quill-pusher thought he could demand his _wand_? Well, he’d see about that.

He pushed past the child and marched to the elevator that would take him directly to the Minister. Once inside the golden cage, he grunted out his destination and arrived moments later.

The corridor was short, but lavishly furnished in portraits of previous ministers, all of them watching him carefully as he marched past them.

With a flick of his hand, the large double oak-doors to Bagnold’s office flew open, banging on the interior walls and bouncing back slightly. The woman in question jumped in her seat in shock, her eyes wide and a quill flying out of her hand. She knocked over no less than three bottles of ink.

“You _dare_ confiscate land not rightfully yours?” he roared. The Minister wasn’t the only one who’s office was up here. The more witnesses the better.

“Arcturus, what is the blo–“ she began, attempting to scowl as she sat down in her chair once more. Her beady black eyes narrowing.

“ _Silence_!” he roared, slamming his hands down on her desk as he leaned into her. “You thought to appropriate land that belonged to the Potters. _Why_?”

“I– “ she began, visibly taken aback. “That– “

_“Answer me!”_

There was a moment of silence before he could hear the shuffling of feet as people peered out of their office doors to see what the commotion was.

“Potter Cottage was to be renovated into a tourist site to celebrate the death of _You-Know-Who_.”

“Are you sure you’re a woman, Millicent? You’ve got some balls to presume to have _that_ kind of authority. Don’t even get me _started_ on the fact you’re forgetting it’s the site of where the heir to the House of Potter’s parents were _murdered_!”

“How _dare_ – “

“How dare _I_? Do not forget just who and _what_ you answer to, _Minister_. You are in that seat because you are _allowed_ to be. And do not forget just _who_ and _what_ I am,” he hissed in return.

Millicent paled considerably.

“I was voted– “

“And how long will those votes remain once your public discovers you attempted to merchandise my _Liege Lord_ ’s tragedy? Do you suppose they’d side with you, or the vanquisher of _Voldemort_?”

“Do _not_ speak his name!” Bagnold snapped, her eyes darting about the room – looking for some Death Eater to appear out of thin air, no doubt.

“If you _ever_ attempt to claim what isn’t yours again, the power I’ll bring to bear on you will make _Voldemort_ look like a friendly first-year duel. That goes _for anyone listening,_ ” he announced, turning to look venomously down the corridor from which he had come. “Lord Potter may not be able to protect his lands at this moment, but let me promise you – House _Black_ can.”

“Are you threatening me, _Arcturus_?” Millicent hissed.

“No, Minister. I’m simply delivering a warning to you. Believe me, you’ll know if I threaten you. I’ll raze this entire magic-forsaken country before I let anything happen to Harry or his lands.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_.” Millicent gasped.

“Would you like to ask your _superiors_ if I’d be out of line, Millicent? I promise you; you wouldn’t like the answer they give you. Now, you _will_ order your people to leave anything signed to the _Potters_ alone. You will also forget about attempting to merchandise _anything_ to do with Harry and Voldemort. Am I understood?”

There was a tense silence as the two scowled at one another.

“Very well, _Lord_ Black. It shall be done immediately. Now, if you’d kindly _piss off_ ,” Bagnold muttered, no doubt she had a lot of posturing and such to get on with in front of her staff in the foreseeable future.

“I’ll be watching your career from here on, Millicent. You can be sure of that,” Arcturus growled before sweeping out of the office.


	6. Harry I

The room before him was dark, hidden away from the rest of the house in its little corner, buried beneath stone and mortar.

Despite the feeling of no one having passed through the heavy oak doorway in many years, the room appeared fresh and clean – nowhere he looked showed evidence of the passage of time. Indeed, even the stonework in the walls appeared newer than the rest of the house he had grown up in. Was it some kind of spell he had never heard of?

He felt Sirius gently place his hand on his left shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. Even through the leather armour and the heavy wolfskin cloak, he could feel the strength of his godfather’s fingers and the subtle back and forth of his thumb.

Arcturus passed him on his right, as he stepped up to the large floor-to-ceiling mirror before them. The mirror was wide enough for perhaps two people to stand next to one-another, but the surface was so black and dull that it seemed a singularly pointless endeavour.

Like himself, both Sirius and Arcturus were in their armour, all three similar in its design – except for one small detail. While the gorgets of both Sirius’s and Arcturus’s had the snake of House Black, his own was adorned with the prowling wolf of his own house.

As Arcturus approached the mirror, Remus closed the door behind them. He briefly turned his head over his shoulder to look back at the man. He grinned at the werewolf as he tucked his dark hair behind an ear.

As he turned back to Arcturus, he was just in time to see the aged wizard place a hand on the oily looking stone before the glass came alive in a rainbow of colours. The room lit with reflection as the colours danced across one another like the waves of the ocean, always mixing and changing. Merlin, he _loved_ magic.

Arcturus turned from the mirror and grinned. What did it _do_? Why was it so hidden within the house? Not even all of his and Neville’s exploring over the years had revealed this room to them – not even when they’d talked Daphne into helping them.

He had grown up surrounded by magic, his grandfather one of the more powerful wizards in the country, and yet he still struggled to grasp what was before him.

“What does it do?” He breathed; his eyes wide as they took in the sight before him. Sirius chuckled as he stepped forward a little, his hand still on his shoulder.

“This, Harry, is how we go home.” The older man replied, his armour creaked ever so slightly as he knelt before him. “We have a little business to do when we get there, so I need you to stay close to me. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded mutely; his eyes never left the mirror. “How?” He croaked, lifting a weak arm to point absently at the artifact.

“Oh, that’s easy – you walk through it, of course.” Sirius chuckled.

Remus snorted behind him. Ah yes, easy.

For the first time, Harry tore his eyes from the mirror… door… _thing_ and narrowed his eyes at the man who had raised him. “Why do I not trust you?”

Sirius rocked back on his heels as if he had been physically struck, a hand leapt to clutch at his breast and his jaw hung open. “You don’t trust me? Why Harry, that’s positively _Marauder_ of you!”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Arcturus called across the room, gesturing to the mirror. “Sirius, you’re first.”

Sirius winked at Harry before he stood and marched his way over to the mirror. He expected to hear a dull thud and the crack of Sirius’ nose breaking. Instead, without breaking his stride, the man continued through the surface of the mirror as if it wasn’t even there to begin with. A blink later, and the wave-like surface had swallowed him whole.

“Remus, you’re next. I’ll bring Harry.” Arcturus commanded.

Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder and stepped around him with child-like glee before following in Sirius’ footsteps.

Harry followed after him, pausing only long enough to allow Remus to step through as Arcturus joined him at his side. Compared to Harry’s average height and nine years of age, Arcturus was practically a giant at six feet. Besides Sirius and Remus, there was nobody he felt safer with.

“Ready, lad?”

Harry blew out a quick sigh. “Does it hurt?” A completely valid question, he thought – though Arcturus’ deep chuckles said otherwise.

“No, Harry. You won’t even feel it. Come on,” he replied after a moment, gently tugging on Harry’s shoulder.

He winced and closed his eyes as the surface came up to meet him. Any second now, he was going to bounce off of the mirror and Sirius and Remus were going to appear out of thin air laughing. He sucked in a deep breath and took another step.

It didn’t hurt _exactly_ , but it also wasn’t entirely pleasant. The feeling of stepping through the surface was similar to stepping through a bubble. There was a moment of resistance and pressure, and then there was nothing. He felt light and heavy at the same time. Colours swirled around him, and then they didn’t.

Before he could take anything else in, they were through the other side and in a courtyard _full_ of the mirror-like objects. A low mist hung around his knees, and the sky was an odd purple with unfamiliar star constellations. They were the only ones around.

“Where are we?” He asked, hearing his voice echo slightly – though it had nothing to do with the acoustics. His eyes darted around, taking in the various tile mosaics of silver serpents dotted throughout the area.

“This is the courtyard of the Ro’rim. From here, we can access any part of our domain.” Arcturus replied, gesturing around him in a grand sweep of his free arm.

“Can’t you just apparate or Floo?” He asked as they walked to the far side where Sirius and Remus were already waiting. Remus looked positively giddy as his head turned this way and that.

Arcturus chuckled, “Not where we hold most of our power, pup. This entire courtyard is made from _magic_ – there’s no other way of getting here. You _have_ to use the mirror in the manor.”

The entire _place_ was made of magic? That was unheard of from any of the books he’d read cover-to-cover over the years, and he’d read _a lot_ of books. If they had something like this, did other families have something similar? Did they all go to the same place? He had so many _questions_!

“Do you want to go through first, Prongslet?” Sirius asked, pointing to the mirror beside him as they arrived.

This time, Harry didn’t even hesitate as he stepped through and had the same experience of everything and nothing. When he arrived on the far side of _whatever_ it was he’d stepped through, he was atop a raised stone dais in a well-maintained courtyard.

All around him were gasps of shock as men, women and children stopped going about their tasks and stopped and stared at his arrival. An odd but short hum behind him announced the presence of the rest of his family.

Everyone in the courtyard knelt on one knee at the sight of Arcturus, their heads bowed. There was a beat of silence before his powerful voice called for them to stand.

As one, the courtyard rose, their hands clasped before them and their shoulders back. Just who were these people? Why were they bowing and kneeling to them?

Growing up in the House of Black, he knew they were a powerful and _old_ family among magical society – they made sure he was loved and cared for, but also _educated_. He knew of the various families, their political stances, who was allied to whom and what traditions each followed and why. What confused him though, was in none of those lessons, had anyone been described as doing what he’d just witnessed. It was a scene from history played before his very eyes – the conquering lord returning to his castle and his loyal subjects.

“Lord Black, an honour to see you again.” A middle-aged woman called, as she performed a flawless curtsy. Her skin appeared tanned in a way that only working outdoors could provide, and her long blonde hair was braided elegantly and draped over her left shoulder. Her clothes, however, appeared to be taken straight out of history.

Her dress was simple in design, a straight light brown dress with a stipe of a darker brown running on either side of her front. Her arms were bare, while her shoulders were covered in a brown shawl that appeared a part of the dress, plunging toward her breasts where the ties of the dress were.

“It’s good to be home. Tell me, is there anything I should be aware of?” Arcturus replied, shrugging his cloak off as he spoke and handing it to a man that darted forward to take it. Sirius, Remus, and he followed the action silently.

“No, Lord Black. Everything has been well in your absence.”

Harry idly turned to peer back at the mirror and noticed for the first time that it had returned to its dull, grimy appearance that he’d first seen it as back in Blackwall. The calling of birds in the sky drew his attention to a small flock of the creatures gliding over the courtyard, only to land on a large square tower just beyond the courtyard. Once he spotted the first tower, he began to notice the others, all with immaculate windows and banners flapping proudly in the wind.

The sigil displayed on the banners caused his mind to stall and grind to a halt. There, displayed proudly for all to see, was the silver serpent of House Black on a field of green and black. He had grown up reciting the various sigils of families under the instruction of Remus – there was no doubt that he was looking at the coat of arms of House Black.

Arcturus moved down the steps, his back straight and his shoulders squared. He looked every bit the lord from the stories he’d devoured in his evenings. For a brief moment, he thought of _Aragorn_ from his favourite series, _The Lord of the Rings_.

Sirius and Remus each clapped a hand on his shoulders and gestured for them to follow the patriarch of the family. As they moved, his eyes never stopped their devouring of the scene before him. To his left, there was what appeared to be a stable – it seemed there were a number of horses housed there. On his right was what appeared to be a blacksmith’s forge – though he did note that while the smith watched the going’s on, the tools continued to work.

Carts laden with food and hay stood throughout the yard, the men and women working them paused in their duties to watch them.

As each of them passed, the crowd would nod, bow or curtsy as they offered a quiet, “Mi’lord.”

Once inside, his breath was once again stolen. While the stone and woodwork outside had been dark and weather-beaten, the inside was white-washed stone and marble with silver gilded designs wrapping around large pillars or arching over alcoves. The ceilings were tall, vaulted things that he almost had to squint to see the highest point of.

Sirius chuckled behind him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“This place… it’s like something out of a book!” Harry replied, his words whispered in awe.

“Aye, that’s the truth of it. I was much the same when I first saw the place.” Sirius replied, ruffling his shoulder-length hair slightly.

Harry tried not to scowl as he ran his fingers through it in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over it. Did Sirius not understand how much of a pain his hair was to make presentable?

They came to a halt in a large hall with a raised seat at the far end. The hall had an unassuming tiled floor, while the walls and ceiling were much the same as the others they had travelled through. There were a few differences, however.

From the rafters, above what appeared to be a high viewing gallery were the banners of House Black – they hung high and proud, each one evenly spaced down the length of the hall and fluttering lightly back and forth in whatever air-current the room seemed to have.

The walls were adorned with large tapestries that appeared to depict specific events – he assumed it was the history of the house. Some showed large-scale battles, while others depicted men or women in either courtrooms, laboratories or facing off against some magnificent creature.

While there were no clear windows in the room, the entire space was well lit with floating balls of white light, held aloft in little serpent sconces. None of it compared to the sight at the far end of the hall, however. There, upon a raised dais was the most magnificent chair he had ever seen.

All along every surface, there was a carving of some sort – some were floral, others depicted warriors in combat, great beasts and throughout it all was the silver serpent. The wood of the chair, if it even was wood – it appeared to be the same material that had made up the frame of the mirrors was black and shiny and oil-like in its appearance. The chair exuded an air of power that he hadn’t felt in his life, nor did he feel he would for the remainder of it.

He came to a halt as Sirius and Remus did, and for the first time he was aware of the crowd that had followed them through the rooms. Ahead of them, Arcturus marched up the few steps that led to the chair and sat down swiftly.

There was a quiet for a heartbeat as Harry noticed that while Arcturus was sat as still and stiff as a statue, his eyes were closed. A second later, his eyes snapped open and glowed while a light mist trailed from them eerily. At the sight of this, once more everyone in the room bent the knee once more – with Harry nervously following a fraction later than everyone else as he looked around nervously.

“Rise.” Arcturus commanded from his seat of power. As one, the hall stood once again – all eyes were on the wizard. All around him, Harry could see the looks of awe and disbelief. “I, Arcturus Black do reclaim the seat of House Black in magic and in blood. From this day, until the end of days.”

There was a rush of power around him from each person in the room, as if a small gale had suddenly blown past him. He noticed that everyone around him appeared a little paler than they had a few moments before. Closing his eyes, he focused on the magic that had rushed around him, and nearly gasped when he felt it slam into Arcturus.

The man grunted for a moment before slumping forward in his chair. Never in his life had Arcturus appeared so tired. There was an oppressive silence in the room until Arcturus gathered himself and stood proudly. What had happened?

“I thank you all for your loyalty and fealty. Curse those who would try to break that bond. You may all return to your duties.”

Is that what had just happened? Had everyone just sworn loyalty and fealty? Why had nobody spoken any words? As everyone trickled from the room, he tugged on Sirius’ sleeve. “What just happened?”

Sirius smiled at him, his nose crinkling slightly in the action. “All those in here have sworn loyalty to our house. In so doing, they are allowed to draw upon the Black family magic in times of need – but, to do so a trade is needed.” Sirius once more knelt before him. “The family magic is not unlimited, Harry. It needs to replace that which is given. So, what you just witnessed was everyone in this room offering a little bit of their magic in exchange.”

“They gave their magic?” He gasped, mouth falling open.

“They did. They’ll never notice it gone, and it didn’t hurt them. For as long as they are loyal and true to us, they will live a little longer, be healthier and be provided for. It’s old magic, Harry.” Sirius smiled, lightly cupping his cheek in his hand.

“Will grandfather be alright?” He asked after a moment, his eyes darting to Arcturus as he stumbled down the steps.

Sirius nodded, his curls bouncing ever so slightly from the movement. “He’ll be alright, pup. We should have come back sooner, but we wanted to wait for you. It’s just taken a bit more out of him than he’s used to. One day, it’ll be me up there instead.” Sirius seemed to shiver at that thought slightly.

Harry nodded slowly; his brow creased in thought. “Why did you wait for me?”

“Well, that’s the million-galleon question, isn’t it?” Sirius grinned. “We need to take you before a few people, Harry. We have a few questions that only they can answer about you. But don’t you worry, as soon as that’s done, we’ll have lots of fun.” Sirius winked, as he stood and placed one hand on each of Harry’s cheeks gently.

There was a moment that he thought Sirius would say more, but a heartbeat later and the moment had gone. He watched Sirius blinked hard and cleared his throat.

“Sirius, come here.” Arcturus called, gesturing with his hand for Sirius to approach. As Sirius left, Remus replaced him.

“What did you think, pup?” Remus asked with a small smile. Harry loved Remus – he knew _so much_! If ever Harry had a question, Moony knew the answer to it.

“It was strange. I’m not sure what I think.” Harry shrugged, idly clasping his hands behind his back.

“Aye, I’m sure. I knew there were rumours, but to actually _be_ here – it’s just…”

“Magical?” Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the old wolf impishly.

Remus chuckled and wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders in the way that was distinctly _Moony_. “Aye, Harry. It’s definitely magical.”

The two stood there for a short time, simply content to be in the others presence. While Sirius and Harry were like father and son, Remus had adopted the honoured position of favourite uncle. There were precious few adults in Harry’s life that he felt completely at ease around. It seemed that whoever he met or was introduced to, they all seemed to want something or another from him.

Some were simply after the political clout of claiming they were in the inner circle of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Others saw a young boy of nine and sought to use their wealth into bullying him into business deals and alliances unfairly. There were also those rare few that would sneer down their noses at him, as if he’d somehow insulted their ancestors simply by breathing.

No, there were precious few adults Harry trusted as he did Arcturus, Sirius and Remus. Though the term _adult_ for Sirius was a stretch.

“Are we staying here all day?” Harry asked after a time, turning to look up at the man beside him.

“No, we’ll be going to the capital shortly. It should only take a few hours to get there – a day at the most, I should think.” Remus replied, shrugging.

“A few _hours_? How far away is it?” Harry gasped. His arse would be numb by the time they arrived!

“Oh, I’d say… forty or fifty miles?”

Harry must have heard him wrong. How would that take _hours_ to get there? Remus must have seen the look on his face because he started to snicker.

“Oh, we won’t be travelling by broom, Harry. Broom’s, Floo’s and Apparating don’t work here I’m afraid. It’ll be the good, old fashioned horse for us.”

“A _horse_?” Harry moaned, though if anyone were to ask, he would deny it. Harry didn’t moan, he was almost ten! And when he was ten, he’d get his letter to Hogwarts, just like his mother and father!

“Yes, Harry – a horse. It’ll be fine, just like an adventure. How do you think you’ll tell Neville and Daphne about riding a horse?”

“Oh, he’ll have Daphne swooning quicker than he can blink!” Sirius chuckled as he returned to them, Arcturus departed in the opposite direction towards a small side-door.

Harry’s cheeks were red before he could retort. “Daphne wouldn’t _swoon_.” He muttered and grumpily toed the floor with his boot.

Sirius snorted quietly before leading them out the way they had come. “Of course not, pup. She’s more likely to punch you in the nose for even _thinking_ she would.”

“Does that mean I can tell her and watch her punch you?” Harry asked, perking up. Remus attempted to cover a chuckle with a cough – it was a good effort, he thought.

Sirius, who had looked back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes replied, “What’s the first rule of being a Marauder?”

“If any mischief is being done, it had better be Marauder mischief.” Harry replied immediately with a proud nod.

“No, no, the other first rule!” Sirius said, waving his hand absently.

“Don’t cock-block a fellow Marauder?”

“No, not that one, the other one!”

“Don’t be a snitch?”

“That’s the one!” Sirius grinned, clapping his hands. It was then that they arrived back in the courtyard, though this time it was full of activity.

Everywhere he looked, people went about their business. Hay unloaded itself, tools pounded away, guards patrolled the walls or stood to attention and children ran back and forth playing their games.

Sirius led them around the throngs of people to the stables. Arcturus must have ordered their cloaks to be placed with their horses and supplied for a trip, as their beasts of burden were saddled and prepared by the time they had arrived.

The horses were _huge_ creatures, with rippling muscle and shiny coats. Sirius leapt atop a black one – Harry had to keep from rolling his eyes at that, while Remus climbed atop a sand-coloured stallion. That left Harry with the deep brown horse that reminded him of chocolate.

How in the bloody hell was he supposed to get up there?

“Pup,” Sirius called over to him as his horse moved to the side idly. “Look to your right… There’s some steps.”

Well, Harry felt a little moronic. With pink-tinged cheeks, Harry scrambled for the steps and dragged them to the side of his – thankfully patient – horse.

With uneasy feet, Harry climbed the steps and put his left foot in what he _assumed_ was a stirrup and swung his other leg over the seat. For a moment, he was sure he was going to tip over the far side until he managed to centre his balance.

Grasping the reins in his hand, he briefly started at just how good the quality leather felt in his fingers before looking down at the horse. “Move. Go on, step over there.” He commanded.

Belly laughs answered him from a few metres away. Harry scowled at his godfather and uncle. It wasn’t his fault; the horse was broken!

“What are you two laughing at?” He scowled, glaring at Sirius who leaned back in the saddle, one hand on the reigns and the other clutching at his stomach.

“Harry,” Remus chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “ _Lightly_ apply pressure with the sides of your feet.”

Grumbling as he did so, he gave a startled yelp when the beast below him began moving of its own volition. A panic-stricken Harry passed a howling Sirius and Remus at an easy walk.

“Don’t you worry, pup! By the time this is all over, it’ll be like you were born in the saddle!” Sirius chuckled as he trotted past him.

Now, Harry had been raised to be polite and courteous to everyone he met. Disarm them with your polite words, Arcturus had lectured countless times. In that moment, those lessons abandoned him as he petulantly stuck his tongue out at his godfathers back.

* * *

“Okay, I _have_ to stop for a bit!” Harry called out, shifting awkwardly in his saddle. They had been riding for hours – most of the day, in fact if the sun was any indicator, and he hadn’t had feeling in his arse for most of it. His back hurt, his arse was numb, and the inside of his thighs felt like they were on fire.

“Alright, Harry.” Remus chuckled as he led his horse to the side of the cobblestone road. They had passed a number of people throughout the day – some walking, others on horses and one couple appeared to be riding quite comfortably on the back of a donkey. “We’ll camp here for tonight – give you a night to recover.”

“You’re so kind.” He grumbled, as he guided his horse next to Remus’s. A groan escaped his lips as he stood in the saddle to lift his leg over and dismount. Harry narrowed his eyes at Sirius as he quietly chuckled behind him his narrowed gaze once both his feet were planted firmly among the long wild grasses.

With shaky knees, he stumbled backwards, while the ground below him shifted and moved beneath his feet as if he were standing on water. Sirius, the arse, appeared no worse for wear. He leapt from his mount with the grace of a cat before snatching the reins up and leading the horse to a nearby tree.

A handful of moments later, when Harry had successfully found a handy log to sit on and Sirius had secured the horses, Remus began to unload the saddlebags.

They didn’t appear large, or even particularly full as Remus lifted them effortlessly before separating the bags based on whose horse they came from. “Come on, I may be your Steward, but you can set your own bloody tents.” Moony grumbled with a grin.

With a wince of effort, Harry pushed himself off of the blanket of moss atop the log and knelt before his own pack. It was a dull tan leather bag with brass clasps that came undone with an easy flick of his fingers. Inside was a bundle of a coarse material and some ropes packed efficiently together.

Making quick work of emptying the bag, he quickly set about building his small shelter. Over the years, Sirius, Neville and he had spent a number of nights on the Blackwall estate under the stars, listening as Sirius told them both stories of their parents.

Sirius would be the first to admit that he knew James and Lily Potter far better than Frank and Alice Longbottom, but he shared what he could. A small part of him felt guilty about his many more stories of his own parents, but a larger more desperate part of him yearned for any little story Sirius or Moony could tell him.

When he was younger, Sirius had told him about his parents’ academic achievements. Lily had been a prodigy at Charm spells, while Transfiguration had been his father’s own specialty. Since that night, under the stars, Harry had sought any and all information on magic like a crazed Hippogriff – he devoured books as he ate, in his free time and before going to bed. He _had_ to make his parents proud.

There had been many a night, while he had stared up at the canopy of his bed and wondered what his parents would think of him. He wondered how his mother’s hugs would feel. Would she kiss him on the forehead or the cheek? What stories would his father tell him before bed? How often would he have to plead for his father to put him on his shoulders and run around the house?

It was those quiet nights, with nothing but the darkness of his room to comfort him, that he found himself drifting off to sleep with fresh tears on his cheeks. He would be the best son he could be, and wherever they were, they would look upon him and be proud of who he had become. Perhaps, one day, when they would meet again, they might just tell him themselves.

His tent was up in minutes, with the pegs firmly hammered into the dark soil and his bedroll rolled out easily. They could have brought wizard tents, with all the luxury they would entail, but it just wasn’t the same. He enjoyed the breeze dancing across his skin, the sound of crickets chirping among the grass and the damp blade of grass that would tickle his nose. There was something about camping in the traditional sense that just _appealed_ to him.

Rocking back on his heels with his hands on his thighs, he nodded at the job he’d accomplished. Behind him, he could hear Sirius going through the same motions as he before the adult stood and began moving methodically around the area. He knew what he was doing – he’d done it every time they’d camped, even on the Blackwall Estate.

Sirius was fiercely protective of Harry, and a part of him would always feel warm at the thought. He loved Sirius, dearly – and knowing his protective streak, he always expected the Wards he would place whenever they were out of the house for a night. If it made Sirius feel better, then it made him feel better. Besides, who would be dumb enough to try anything with Sirius _and_ Moony?

He smiled over his shoulder at the sight of Sirius idly flicking his wand back and forth. A heartbeat later, the familiar warmth of Protection Wards flittered across his skin, securing them for the night against any threats. Even Harry knew they were not fool proof, however. A strong enough effort to break through would shatter them in seconds, and a determined enough foe could sneak through them – but they served their purpose of a first line of defence well enough.

Remus, in the middle of the trio of tents, appeared to be building a campfire. With precise wand-movements, he enlarged a small pebble into a fist-sized rock and place it carefully into the ring. In no time at all, all that was missing were some branches to feed the fire.

“What are we eating tonight?” Harry asked, as he sat by the fire and watched Sirius and Remus continue to work.

“We’ll find something, won’t we _Padfoot_?” Remus replied, arching an eyebrow at Sirius. Sirius, on the other hand simply rolled his eyes before setting off towards the treeline they had set their tents against. Just as he was to disappear among the shadows, Harry watched with fascination as his Godfather casually turned into the large, Grim-like dog known as Padfoot.

While it was a common sight to see the transformation, it still took Harry’s breath away. He knew the reason _why_ his father and Sirius had become _Animagi_ , but the feat itself still left him with no little bit of wonder.

What would it be like? To run on all-fours? To prowl the forest and pounce on his prey? To hunt with his family? He had decided as a small child, that he would follow in his father’s and Sirius’s footsteps and become an _Animagus_.

It wouldn’t be for years, he knew that. I had barely been safe when his father had attempted it. Harry knew his magic and body had to mature _a lot_ before he’d be allowed to attempt it – but _Merlin_ did he want it.

“I’d expect it’ll be rabbit tonight, pup.” Remus smiled, breaking him from his thoughts.

Harry shrugged – he’d eaten rabbit plenty of times. It was damn-near the only thing Sirius could catch, it seemed – though that didn’t come as too much of a surprise. Sirius was, after all, just a dog – a big dog, but a dog, nonetheless.

It was an hour later when Sirius returned, a rabbit firmly clutched in his jaws. Remus and Harry shared a knowing smile as the twigs Remus had collected from the nearby trees crackled and snapped in the approaching dusk.

With a dull thud, the animal was dropped onto the grass – its lifeless eyes staring un-blinking into the darkening sky. Sirius returned to his own body, spitting out blood onto the grassy floor.

“That never gets any better, you know.” Sirius grumbled, snatching the offered waterskin from Remus with a scowl. “You’d think they’d never washed before.”

Remus chuckled as he pulled out a knife and began the process of preparing their meal. The rip and tear of flesh always made him a little uncomfortable, though he knew it necessary for them to eat. Already Harry’s stomach groaned.

“It’s a rabbit, I hardly think it has a sense of personal hygiene.” Harry replied cheekily, grinning as Sirius threw a leaf in his direction.

“I hardly think _Sirius_ has a sense of personal hygiene at times.” Remus added in quietly, earning a cuff around the back of the head.

“I’ll have you know I have a _wonderful_ sense of personal hygiene, Moony. It’s not my fault Padfoot looks like a mangy mongrel.”

“You said it, not us.” Harry chuckled, clutching his knees to his chest as he looked into the fire. The oranges and yellows of the flames flickered across the twigs in an elegant dance.

Sirius grumbled a protest before he unceremoniously fell backwards to lay down on the grass. “Anyone would be thankful I brought them food.”

“I’d argue it’s an appetiser, rather than a meal – but it’ll do for tonight.” Remus snickered as he withdrew his wand to vanish the unwanted remains. A few seconds later, and the skinned rabbit was hovering over the flame and rotating slowly – the eventually hiss of the juices dripping into the fire the only break in the ensuing silence.

“Please tell me it’s done, I’m starved!” Harry moaned as his stomach rumbled once again sometime later.

Remus’s appraising eye swept the meat before him for a moment before he nodded. Not a moment later, the meat was divvied up between them, and the three set about consuming their meal in silence.

Once satisfied, they continued their silence – happy to listen to the quiet call of owls in the night-sky and to gaze upon the new and unfamiliar constellations of stars above them.

“So, what’s the Capital like?” Harry asked eventually, his hands behind his head and his cloak draped over his front.

“Big,” Sirius chuckled quietly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“As big as London?”

“No, though I suppose it could seem that way.” Sirius replied tiredly. “The Capital is home to half-a-million people, but it’s like no city you’ll have seen or read about in those books of yours.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, the curiosity evident in his voice.

“That’s all I’ll say. I’m not ruining the surprise for you.”

He could hear Remus’ huff of protest. It was interesting that Remus seemed to know as little as he. “I was wondering,” He began slowly, ignoring the snort of amusement that came from Sirius. “why does it feel like this place is a secret? I’ve never heard of anything like this place in any of the books at Blackwall.”

“Aye, you have the right of it, I suppose.” Sirius sighed, sitting up on his elbows. “A long time ago, Magicals, like us, lived peacefully among Muggles. Over time, that changed, and we were hunted and shunned. Our leader at the time, a man that _we all_ looked up to decided enough was enough.”

Harry’s attention was rapt – his eyes wide as he took in the tale Sirius was weaving. It seemed Remus too was just as focused, as he was also sitting up on his elbows.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, almost as if he were deciding on what to say. “In the end, he and others created this place for us. There are similar places in other parts of the world, but they all started _here_.”

“You mean there are other places like this?” Harry asked, pushing himself to his elbows and looking between Sirius and Remus. Sirius nodded.

“Aye, there are. This is the _home_ of magic, Harry. Every person you meet here is a witch or wizard. Muggle-born are a thing only on, well – I suppose only on _Earth_.”

“Earth? You mean we’re on a different _planet_?” Harry gasped, looking around with a renewed vigour.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head and waving a hand back and forth. “No, no. We’re still on Earth, Harry. The best way I can describe it is…” Sirius paused for a moment; his chin tilted into the air as he absently picked at the grass around him. “We’re in a world within a world. To the outside, this place is no larger than an apple – but _in here_ , it’s almost endless. Does that make sense, Harry?”

He pursed his lips as the idea bounced around in his head slowly. “I suppose so.” He said slowly after a moment. “So, nobody can get in without those mirrors then?” He asked.

“The _Ro’rim_ , Harry. There are… _entrances_ , here and there, but they’re _tightly_ guarded. Some Muggle-born are given the opportunity to come here, though most prefer to stay where they were born.” Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Travel back and forth is difficult without a _Ro’rim_. They were gifted to the old families a long time ago, and nobody knows how to make them anymore.”

“But what about the Ministry?”

“The Ministry answers to the wizards and witches _here_ , Harry. The Magical population of Britain is a _colony_. It’s a complicated and convoluted system, but it’s what we have. The knowledge of this place is the greatest secret most families carry – so secret in fact, some families have completely forgotten it exists.”

Harry frowned, “But how could they forget? If this place is made of magic, it’s the most wonderful place for us!”

“People die before they plan to, Harry.” Remus said quietly before Sirius could respond. “I assume the knowledge is passed from Lord to Heir?”

Sirius nodded slowly, his eyes on the fire.

“Harry, if only two people in the family know a secret, what happens to that secret if those two people are killed in battle? Or they both die of disease before they can pass it on?” Remus asked gently.

“The secret is lost.” He gasped; his eyes wide. “How many families don’t know about this place?”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Families go extinct or are absorbed into other families now and then. Others are the victims of war or plague. There used to be hundreds of families in Britain alone. Now, I’d hazard a guess that only a few dozen remember.”

For some reason, despite not knowing any of those families himself, he found that inexplicably sad. How many would never be able to return, simply because they had no idea of what they had forgotten?

“I assume some family lines continue here?” Remus asked after a while, poking the fire with a stick idly.

Sirius nodded, “Aye, some remain – the Gryffindor family still remains here, for example.”

The _Gryffindor_ ’s? The family that was responsible for Godric Gryffindor _himself_? Would they be anything like their famous relative? One of Harry’s favourite books was a chronicle of Godric’s life, from his birth in Godric’s Hollow, to his death in battle at the hands of his son. Would he meet any of them? Why hadn’t they returned to Britain?

“I think that’s enough for tonight. Get some sleep, I’ll take the first watch, Remus.” Sirius grunted, making a shooing motion with his hands.

How was he supposed to sleep now? With a roll of his eyes, he stumbled to his feet and trudged his way to his bedroll, his cloak bundled up under his right arm. Unceremoniously, he flopped onto the thin material and dragged his cloak over him like a blanket.

With his eyes shut, thoughts raced through his mind. What other families could still exist if the Gryffindor’s were still around? What about House Ravenclaw? House Ruccall? House Goodridge? How much knowledge had the world lost because they hadn’t returned?

He shuffled as he turned on his other side and blew out a harsh breath. How could Sirius just drop something like that on his _just_ before going to bed? He _and_ Remus knew Godric was his hero – the man who battled Dark Wizards, who helped found Hogwarts, who crowned a _king_! It was too bloody much.

He remained in that fitful state for hours, trying in vain to quiet his mind. At some point, he heard Sirius and Remus trade their vigil over their small camp. It was as he lay on his back that he felt it.

It was a whisper at first, just beyond the edge of his hearing. Slowly, his eyes opened and frowned up at his tent. The whisper grew stronger, almost like a voice on the wind and a small tug at the back of his mind caused him to shift uncomfortably.

He pushed himself to his elbows as his leather armour creaked a little at the motion and his cloak pooled around his waist.

“Remus?” He called.

“Pup? Everything alright?” Remus asked a moment later as he knelt before the tent and ducked his head through the hanging flap.

“Yeah, everything’s fine…” He mumbled, frowning.

The whisper returned.

“Can you hear that?” He asked, scrambling to the entrance of the tent. As he came to his feet, it appeared Sirius too, had been woken by his voice.

“Hear what, pup?” Sirius asked, his wand shooting from its holster on his wrist and into his hand.

“That voice…” Harry replied softly, straining to hear it again. “It’s sad.”

If anyone had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them _how_ he knew that. It was a _feeling_ , but he felt it as if it were his own. It was all very odd.

“We don’t hear anything, Harry.” Remus replied after a brief look with Sirius.

“It’s coming from over here.” Harry said, ignoring the two adults. Without waiting for them, he approached the inky blackness of the treeline, stepping around the log he had sat upon earlier.

The treeline was a wall of black, the trunks of the tree’s thick and strong while the canopies blocked out any light that may have thought to trickle down from the stars. Along the edge, however, were a number of small bushes, and it was towards one of these that he went.

As he approached the bush, the voice got louder and louder – it was so loud, he thought he was going deaf! Clutching his head tightly in his hands, he stumbled to a halt and collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

“Pup!” The distant voice of Sirius called, but something was tugging on his shoulder. He shrugged it off and almost leapt into the foliage before him.

He was reckless in his desperation to find the source of the noise. Perhaps, if he found it, he would be able to think again. A small trickle of something ran down the side of his face. He paused long enough to touch a finger to it, and when the finger was before his eyes, a hint of moonlight revealed it to be blood. Was he bleeding?

He dropped his right hand and looked back to the bush. His left hand was still holding back the branches in his search.

A pair of overly large black, glossy eyes peered up at him from the darkness, the moon reflected in their depths. A small, stunted, and hooked beak just below them.

The soft chirp of the creature greeted him curiously. Softly, with his right hand he reached out with as much care as he could. The voice was strongest now – a deep, primal noise that drove him on.

The beak was hard as his fingers came in contact with it, and the creature’s eyes blinked slowly. In the darkness, he noticed that the creature had no feathers to speak of – it was an ugly, tiny thing with little tufts of _something_ sticking out at odd angles on its dirty pink skin.

It hopped into his palm without an ounce of hesitation, gently nipping at the still blood-slicked fingers.

It took a longer nip, once he brought it up to his chest, and for a moment, something tickled his blood-slicked digits.

There was a sudden sensation of something _snapping_ in his mind, followed by a powerful booming thunder that echoed through the trees before he was thrown a dozen meters behind him, landing among the remains of his tent. The cries of Sirius and Remus remained in the distance as blackness crept along the edges of his vision.

He awoke sometime later – the passage of time unclear besides the appearance of the sun above him. He groaned as he pushed himself up – everything felt stiff and uncomfortable.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted, rushing to his side in a short sprint. Sirius’ hand came to rest at the nape of Harry’s neck, tangled in his thick hair. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…” He grumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position. He looked down when he heard an unfamiliar squawk of indignation.

There, in his lap was the ugly little creature from before. It appeared a little healthier – less starved, its body having filled out a little. His confused expression must have been clear as the blue sky above them.

“Couldn’t get that thing away from you. No matter where we put it, the second we turned back to you, it was on your chest.” Remus grumbled, having joined Sirius at his side.

“What is it?” He asked eventually, his voice scratchy.

“Not a clue. It’s been with you for the last few days.”

“ _Days_?” Harry demanded, his head snapping to the two adults beside him as his eyes grew wide. They nodded slowly. “I’m sorry,” He began, the apology spilling from his lips before Sirius shushed him.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re just glad you’re alright. You had us worried when you charged off to the bush.” Sirius said in as soothing a voice as he could, gently stroking back his hair from his damp forehead.

“What happened, pup?” Remus asked, offering him a waterskin.

After a gulp, his throat felt much better. “I heard a voice, but I couldn’t make out any words. It got louder and louder the closer I got to that…” Harry stalled as he saw the _remains_ of a chunk of the treeline. It appeared blasted and scorched – like something from a nightmare.

“What in _Merlin_ caused _that_?” He asked after a moment.

“You did.”

“ _What_?” Harry gasped; looking between the two adults. They both nodded slowly.

“When you were thrown back, there was a flash of light and everything around you burst into flames. Took us an hour to put it out once we knew you were okay.” Sirius shrugged.

“Woah…” Harry breathed, looking down at the creature in his lap. Gently, he scratched it under its chin, eliciting a soft – almost musical cooing noise. “What is this?” He asked after a moment.

“Not sure, but it’s an ugly little thing. Damn near-“ Sirius paused mid-sentence before looking between Harry, Remus and the blasted trees. “I think you just found your familiar, Harry.” Sirius muttered dumbly, his eyes staring into the middle-distance somewhere as he said the words.

“My familiar? But I’ve not got my Hogwarts letter yet!”

“Not all familiars are found in shops, Harry. The events of that night and the events while you were asleep make more sense if this creature is indeed your familiar.” Remus replied as Sirius continued standing there, his arms limp at his sides.

“So, I’m… bonded to this?” He asked eventually. Familiars were commonplace in their world, being used as companions and within rituals. The bond was deep and intimate, and it wasn’t uncommon for the lifespan of a familiar to match that of its owner. There were exceptions, of course with the more long-lived species, but all the books he’d read in the Black library went on to say that those that out-lived their human often went on to lead solitary lives afterwards.

“What _is_ it?” He asked after Moony nodded.

“We’re not sure. It appears to be a bird of some-kind. Whatever it is, it’s obviously very young. It will be your responsibility now, Harry. You will feed it, you will train it, and if it should die, you shall bury it. Is that understood?” Remus asked seriously, placing a firm hand on his nearest shoulder. Harry nodded mutely.

“Is Sirius going to be okay?” He asked, the sounds of the birds in the surrounding tree’s echoing around them.

As if the question itself snapped him back to reality, Sirius shook himself like a dog and seemed to come to. He looked around for a moment, as if attempting to remember where he was before his eyes fell on the creature in Harry’s lap.

“Harry,” Sirius breathed, with what Harry assumed was a proud smile on his face. “I’m so proud of you, pup. You beat your dear old dad by a _mile_.” He grinned as he placed a hand on the back of Harry’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. Remus had since stepped back to allow Sirius to kneel next to him again.

Harry grinned at that. “What about my _dogfather_?”

“Oh, it wasn’t even a competition. I didn’t find mine until my sixth year! Mine was prettier, though.” Sirius chuckled, winking.

The two drew apart, and Harry pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. With both Sirius and Remus supporting his elbows, he looked down at the animal clutched to his chest and smiled.

There was something about this little creature that felt _right_. It felt as if a part of him that had been missing had finally clicked into place, making him whole. He couldn’t wait to see what it grew into – was it an owl? A bird of prey? Whatever it was, he’d be sure to be the best wizard a familiar could ask for – that was a _promise_.


	7. Harry II

Their travel had continued on once he had regained some of his strength, with his small avian companion perched comfortably on his left shoulder. While the casual banter between the three of them continued, there was a definite undercurrent of concern from the two adults.

When their belongings had finally been packed away into their saddlebags, the sun had been high in the sky and its warmth had blanketed them comfortably, even with their leather armour. With feeling returned to his arse from the few days break, he found himself more confidently approaching the horse. Perhaps the travel wouldn’t be as painful as it was before?

They had continued along the cobblestone road, with the quiet clip-clopping hooves of the two stallions and his own mare to steadily pass the time in the intervals of comfortable silence. On either side of the road, huge trees of all shapes and sizes surrounded them, sometimes arching over the path to provide some cool shade.

On the edge of his hearing, the sound of rushing water accompanied them. Sirius had mentioned at one point that all the rivers in the area congregated at the Capitol and provided fresh water to the city. If that were the case, perhaps it wouldn’t smell as much as he thought it might – half a million people in a city must be _foul_.

The sun indicated early afternoon when they finally crested a nearby hill, and he caught his first glance of the city – his small familiar squawking excitedly on its perch.

It was magnificent. Large plains stretched out for miles around, the deep green grasses causing the glittering white stone walls that looked _huge_ to stand out even more. From where they stopped to take in the view, he could easily see the tight press of buildings contained within the large walls – at first glance, there were no easily discernible districts as each clump of buildings seemed arrayed every which way.

A second inner wall bisected the city – a defensive measure, he supposed. It wasn’t uncommon for cities to have another line of defence to fall back to in the event the outer wall was breached. These appeared to have many more gates if the regular squat towers were anything to go by.

Then, as his eyes followed the gradual rise of the city, he saw it. There, standing tall and proud over this city was the most magnificent castle he had ever seen. He had seen images of his own ancestral castle, _Rosestone Castle_ – but even that paled in comparison to this.

Huge stone towers, keeps and holdfasts created a sprawling citadel that stretched proudly into the clouds, the highest points just tickling the lowest of the clouds. It was like something out of a story. His eyes snapped to Sirius.

“ _That_ is our capitol?” Harry breathed, listening to the soft tune of trumpets as they were carried on the wind.

“That it is, pup.” Sirius grinned as he raised a hand and pointed at the keep. “That’s the Citadel. Our ruling council rules from that seat of power, and has done since it was founded.”

“It’s… beautiful.” Remus exhaled, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“Race you down there?” Harry challenged, his confidence in his riding vastly improved.

Sirius barked out a laugh, “Go on then, pup! I’ll see you at the bottom of the hill!”

Sirius was off as he cracked his reins. Harry grinned, doing the same only to see his horse remained still. “C’mon! After him!” He ordered, lightly pressing his feet into the flanks of his mount as he usually did to get it moving.

Remus’s amused chortles echoed across the hilltop as Sirius became a distant figure. “Not working out the way you hoped, is it pup?”

“ _Bollocks_!” Harry grumbled dejectedly, huffing petulantly as his horse trotted along after Moony’s. Had his horse simply been following along, ignoring his orders all this time? A part of him felt decidedly cheated at the thought.

It took a lot longer than it had taken Sirius to reach the bottom, the _adult_ in question looking decidedly smug upon their arrival as he lounged in the saddle.

“Did it not work out the way you’d planned, Harry?” Sirius winked. It was an incredibly _smug_ looking wink.

Harry, ever the mature one of the three, stuck his tongue out in reply. Sirius laughed harder – the bastard.

It was an hour later when he finally saw the roaring rivers cutting across the green fields towards the city. In his excitement atop the hill, he hadn’t thought to notice them. They were a deep, clear blue as they rushed along their meandering paths towards the white-walled city.

As they got closer and closer, they came across larger and larger groups – most travelling on foot. It wasn’t long until they were directly in front of the large gates, the imposing towers on either side. Above them, the banner of a large golden dragon with a trio of crowns hung upon a field of deep crimson – he didn’t recognise _that_ banner.

Before he could take another glance at it, they were pushed along by the ever-growing crowd and under the short tunnel that took them into the city-proper.

Once inside the walls, the crowd began to disperse in different directions. Sirius, it appeared, at least knew his way to wherever they were going. All around them were buildings with smooth white facades broken up with wooden beams hung colourful streamers and bolts of cloth of various colours.

Men and women on either side of him were selling their wares, and children ran freely among the crowds. To his left, the smell of a bakery tickled his nose and caused his stomach to grumble. On his shoulder, the tiny beak of his newest companion nipped at his ear.

Gently pulling on the reins and urging the horse towards the smell wasn’t as difficult as he’d imagined. Sirius and Remus came to a stop a moment later when they realised what he was doing.

Leaning down from his saddle a little to see into the bakery, he called out, “Can I have a small loaf of bread, please?”

There was a brief clatter of cooking utensils, and a muffled curse before a gruff-looking man, who’s hair was thin and balding waddled out the front as he wiped his hands on an apron. “Just a single loaf, milord?” His voice was deep and booming, clear even through the multitudes of voices around him.

“Aye, just a small one if you have it. This little one is hungry, I think.” Harry grinned, hooking a thumb at his familiar.

“I’ve got just the thing. Fresh out the oven, it is.” The baker replied, retreating momentarily into the building. He returned, seconds later with a small chunk of bread wrapped in a bolt of cloth. “That’ll be six Knuts, milord.”

Sitting up slightly, Harry pulled on the small drawstring pouch that was tied to his belt and fished the copper coins out. With a smile, and a thankful nod, the exchange was made. The baker returned to his shop, and Harry began breaking small chunks off for the creature on his shoulder.

The bird, for that’s all he knew it was, flapped its wings excitedly and devoured the food as it hopped from one foot to the other. For how gangly and misshapen it appeared to be, it seemed to have excellent balance.

Once his familiar had consumed its body weight in bread, Harry urged the horse to move once again. Sirius took the lead, while Remus remained at his side. They travelled the remarkably clean streets in quiet conversation, the two of them pointing out details as they passed.

They saw what appeared to be a large, and finely decorated building of worship. There was what seemed to be a tournament ground and, of course as they drew nearer to the Citadel, there was the keep itself.

It had been a sight to behold at a distance, but here, up close, it was something else entirely.

The stonework appeared flawless, but entirely practical. It wasn’t some delicate thing that would crumble from a single siege-spell – no, this keep was designed for war. How many times had it been attacked? How many defenders did it take to hold it? How many staff? Was there a staff, or were they all House Elves? He had so many questions!

When they finally reached the keep itself, Harry found himself looking up at a _third_ wall – which made sense when he really thought about it. Unlike the other walls that they’d passed through, this one had a single entrance and was guarded by a number of men and women in an odd combination of armour and robes.

They appeared to be wearing tight-fitting tunics over chainmail that was dyed a deep red, not too dissimilar from the banner he’d seen at the entrance of the city. Their left shoulders had a large studded leather pauldron, and there was a short bolt of cloth that hung from the back of their belts down to the back of their knees. Their forearms, hands, right shoulder, calves, knees and feet were protected by well-fitted steel plate armour. Some wore hoods sewn into their tunics, while others didn’t.

He could also spot an assortment of weapons; there were the expected wands, but also swords, bows, halberds, pikes and _staffs_! He had only seen renderings of wizard staffs, and all had appeared to be long, gnarled pieces of wood. These appeared to be something else entirely. Some were simple wooden poles with a crystal ball at the top – others, had a blade for the bottom third of the weapon!

Then there were the more outlandish staffs – made entirely, it seemed, out of some kind of metal with large, strange shapes the size of an adult’s head. Some were sharp and jagged, while others were smoother and more complicated in its design. Overall, the sight was _brilliant_!

“Halt! State your business!” One of the staff-wielding guardsmen ordered, placing the bladed lower half of his weapon on the floor before him. A second, a woman, placed herself next to her partner as she fingered the hilt of a sword.

“Sirius Black, heir to the House of Black. With me is our Steward, Remus Lupin,” Sirius replied, his voice powerful. At the mention of his name, Remus bowed his head politely. “and the heir of House Potter. Our business is with the Council.”

The two guards looked between themselves briefly before nodding. “Very well, you may proceed, Heir Black. The Viscount will see you housed for the duration of your stay.”

The two guards stepped back and to either side of their party, bowing at the waist as they passed between them.

As they entered the courtyard, his eyes attempted to capture all they could. There were guards patrolling, men and women loading and unloading carts and what he had to assume were Nobles taking casual strolls. As the shadows became longer, and the sun had lowered considerably, there was even a number of wizards and witches going around casting those small balls of light he’d noticed when Arcturus had sat in his chair.

A stable boy rushed up to gather the reins of his horse and led him over to the stables, other stable boys doing the same for Sirius and Remus. The dismount was much easier than last time, even with the awkward weight of his familiar on his shoulder – the little nip on his ear reminding him to give it a scratch under its chin. It preened at the attention, causing Harry to giggle.

“We’ll take your saddlebags, My Lords.” The eldest of the boys, roughly similar to Harry’s own age if he had to venture a guess. Harry smiled at him.

“That’ll be excellent, lads.” Sirius replied, nodding his head slowly. “Have them taken to whichever rooms we’re assigned.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The three of them turned, Sirius leading the way with Remus and Harry following in his wake and made their way to the far side of the courtyard. As they passed, people stopped and looked at them curiously – some, mostly the Nobles, began muttering and whispering amongst themselves.

The doors were flanked by two guards on either side, and as they arrived, the guards threw the doors open for them. If Harry had thought the exterior of the castle was a marvel, the interior blasted that standard out of the Quidditch pitch.

Tall sand-coloured marble pillars lined the walls with fine carvings of intricate patterns spiralling up them. The walls, also marble stretched high into the air with tapestries and banners hanging proudly – there was also the occasional weapon mounted below a moving portrait, re-enacting some feat of bravery or skill. The ceiling was high and arched, much like the Black castle, but in a much grander scale – high above them, were even balconies of even higher floors!

The click-clacking of heels against the polished marble floor drew his attention forwards. There, beyond a small entryway and approaching them was an aged-looking man with a bald head and blonde mutton-chop facial hair. His countenance was stern and severe, while his figure was lithe and well-trimmed. Despite his apparent age, his shoulders were broad and strong. His piercing green eyes, as they passed over him, made him feel as if he had been judged and found wanting.

“Heir Black, so gracious of you to take the time out of your busy schedule and join us… finally.” The man’s deep, richly accented voice drawled, an eyebrow had raised itself almost imperceptibly. He offered no bow or hand to shake as he stared at the three of them.

“Viscount Trevelyan, we didn’t expect to receive the honour of your visit.” Sirius replied, bowing politely.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” The Viscount replied. His face remained stony and expressionless as he peered at Sirius as one would an insect.

Is this who the guards had been talking about? What _was_ a Viscount? Better yet, why was he looking at Sirius that way? He fought to keep the frown off of his face.

“And this must be your Steward,” Trevelyan continued, eyeing Remus carefully. “I do hope you can keep him _muzzled_.” Harry saw Remus’s shoulders sag ever so slightly – despite how welcome they had all made him feel in their small family, Harry was well aware of other people’s attitudes towards his soft-spoken uncle.

“And who might this be? Don’t tell me your family has slipped so far as to taking in strays, Black?”

Harry felt his face flush in anger as he glared at the man. “My name is Harry. Harry _Potter_.”

A brief expression of surprise flittered across Trevelyan’s face for a moment before it disappeared completely. “Indeed? Well, you may not be as stupid as we all believed, Black.”

“My intelligence is _always_ vastly underestimated, Viscount.” Sirius replied, his voice tight with anger.

“We shall see.” Replied Trevelyan evenly, “Come, your quarters await. I’m sure you’ll want to wash and rest from your travels.”

Harry would have muttered a scathing response to the old fossil, if not for Arcturus’s many lessons and knowing he was not only representing House Black, but House _Potter_ as well. They followed the man through the winding corridors of the keep and up spiralling staircases. By the time they arrived at their apartments, he was thoroughly lost.

“You shall stay here. I shall have the servants bring your… possessions to you presently. If you require anything in the meantime, simply ask a guard and they will pass your needs along. If that is all?” Trevelyan left immediately, not awaiting a response.

Gesturing for them to follow him, Sirius led them into their lodgings. The entry room was lavishly furnished, with rich mahogany furniture with red cushions. The table that took up the large space in the centre was large and could easily seat a dozen or more. The couches were the same deep red he’d seen throughout the rest of the keep, all with the same odd sigil.

Sirius dropped onto one of the four couches before the spitting fireplace and groaned as he rubbed at his eyes. “Moony, before we leave, I’m hexing the pompous twat.”

“Who is he?” Harry asked, dropping into the couch opposite as he removed his belt. The small sheath of his dagger clunked against the table before him as he placed it unceremoniously in a small mound of leather and silver.

“Viscount Carth Trevelyan, the glorified _caretaker_ of this castle. His family has ruled here for a few hundred years and will likely rule for a few hundred more.” Sirius replied.

“He’s an arsehole. I don’t like what he said about Remus.” Harry growled, leaning forward as his familiar leapt from his shoulder to the table. It burrowed its way into the mound that was his belt.

“Leave it, pup. It’s not worth it.” Remus replied softly, throwing his cloak over a stand by the door.

“It’s not _right_!” Harry shot back, his anger causing his fists to tremble.

“No, it’s not but there’s nothing we can do about it. Outside of the Council, he’s the next figure of authority – even _we_ have to answer to someone, Harry.” Sirius sighed, sitting up finally, and rubbing his temples.

“But why does he have to be a prick?” Harry grumbled, rubbing his own tired eyes. “I won’t have him bad-mouth Remus again.”

“And what shall the little pup do, hm?” Remus asked, affectionately tousling Harry’s hair as he passed behind him.

“Kick him in the shins and prank his balls off.” He replied immediately, grinning.

“Not this time, Harry. Carth could easily have you _executed_ if you cross him. He’s a ruthless, cunning and _brilliant_ man. _Never_ underestimate him, do you understand me?” Sirius ordered, rushing before him, and dropping to a knee.

Harry had never seen Sirius so earnest, his dark eyes unflinching as he stared into them. Harry licked his lips nervously before he nodded. “I swear.” Sirius nodded as he rocked back on his heels and stood.

“Good. Now, go and wash up – you stink.” Sirius grinned, playfully scrunching his nose in disgust.

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved Sirius away playfully as he stood, “Like you smell any better, you mangy old dog.”

“Hey, who’re you calling old?” Sirius called as Harry ducked into one of the rooms with a chuckle, already fiddling with the clasps and buckles on his armour.

He groaned as the clasps came undone, feeling the tightness of the clothes lessen. He looked about the room – it appeared to be a small antechamber that led into three other rooms, all with studded wooden doors in stone archways. Shrugging, he moved to the central one and toed the door open as his fingers fiddled with his vambrace on his left wrist.

The room was larger than he expected, with a large canopy bed dominating the space. All around him, the rich reds and golds glittered in the light cast from the fireplace – its warmth comfortable but not overbearing. Large panelled windows flanked both sides of the bed, with the final rays of daylight flittering through onto the thick rugs.

Before the fire, sat atop a large pedestal was a golden tub with a small grouping of runes carved into its surface. He stepped over to it and gently ran his fingers over the polished metal lightly. His eyes focused on one of the runes specifically as his finger traced the lines. He closed his eyes and searched for his magic like Remus had taught him.

The maelstrom inside him was like a wild storm, lashing out this way and that. He kept it contained most of the time, and had yet to perform any _accidental magic_ , as Remus had called it. It yearned to be set loose, to impose his will on the world around him, to shape everything to _his_ desires. It whispered sweet nothings into his ears, promised him power, control, _family_. His focus became razor sharp and his brows pulled together furiously – the storm withdrew a little. Who was his magic to attempt to seduce him with _that_?

He had a family! He had Arcturus, Sirius, Remus, Lispy and all the other Black House Elves – he even liked Kreacher, for _Merlin’s_ sake! Furiously, he grasped his magic and forced it into submission – his magic answered to _him_.

With his magic sufficiently cowed, he allowed the smallest drop to whisper through his fingertip and caress the rune. Immediately, the bottom of the tub began filling with water that had the faintest scent of vanilla and mint. It was an interesting combination.

The steel gorget came off first, the small ties on each side of his neck coming loose with a practiced tug. It separated easily down the seam on either shoulder as he lifted it over his head – he placed it carefully on a small nearby table, his fingers absently tracing the prowling wolf.

Next, came the sleeveless leather gambeson, with its diamond quilting. It slid over his head easily enough, and the loss of the weight was immediately felt and welcomed. He took a quiet moment to enjoy the sensation with his eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose. He grimaced – Sirius was right, he was positively _ripe_.

The vambraces quickly followed once the leather gambeson was draped over a nearby mannequin. These joined the gorget on the small table, their small metal buckles clinking together. The long-sleeved padded shirt was the next to be removed – it was awkward and bulky over his chainmail and was always a pain in the arse to remove. Through the years of experience of putting it on and taking off all by himself, however, he managed to eventually shimmy it over his head.

The chainmail was the trickiest of the lot. Mithril chainmail was light and flexible, but it did have _some_ weight, and as with all armour, there was a degree of movement that was lost in its use. The main tie was at the nape of his neck, which was easy enough to tug loose. However, the ties on his side were awkward and difficult as they were _just_ out of his reach. Through a little tugging and stretching, the ties came loose, and he allowed the mail to fall over his head as he doubled over.

He almost fell backwards as the weight suddenly left him, and the dull thud of the metal echoed throughout the room. With a barely contained moan of absolute bliss, Harry rolled his shoulders freely. The constant weight and pressure was no more – he was free!

After that, his tunic and undershirt were peeled off – he tried not to gag at the sound and the feeling of it, and once his upper body was bare to the gentle breeze of the open window, he got to work on removing his boots. The tall, knee-high boots were made of quality leather, with two buckles running up the calves to secure them. The came undone easily, and a few tugs later, his feet were free.

He’d barely removed the rest of his clothes by the time the water in the tub stopped rising, the light mist of steam already rising from the water. Slipping in gently, he couldn’t help the groan that whispered past his lips – the warm water soothing his aching body.

He sat there in the tub for a time, with his arms draped on either side – this was bliss. While Blackwall had tubs, baths and showers, he found something truly relaxing about sitting in a tub before the fireplace. It allowed him to relax in a way that sitting in a bath couldn’t compare with – perhaps it was the pop-crackle of the fire in the background, rather than the oppressive silence of a bathroom.

Time stopped having any real bearing – he was completely relaxed. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water. Could he stay here forever? He’d be more wrinkled than Merlin, but at least he’d be comfortable – though he was quite stumped on just how he’d eat.

There was a knock on his door, and he groaned. “Pup, we’re to eat in the hall tonight. Hurry up – the House Elves should have laid out a fresh change of clothes on your bed for you.” Sirius’s voice called.

“Alright! I’ll be out in a minute!” He called in reply, lightly brushing a finger against the rune that would turn the water soapy.

He furiously scrubbed at his skin, watching with not a little fascination as the dirt and grime almost peeled off him. Once his skin was thoroughly pink and not a little sore in places, he dunked his head under the water and washed his hair with his fingertips.

As many young children have done throughout history, he hadn’t given much care for his appearance as a child – content to have unruly, wild hair sticking up this way and that. It had been Sirius, just two years previous, who had taken him aside and explained the reasoning behind a well-groomed appearance.

As a result, he had bathed far more frequently, allowed his hair to grow out in a parody of Sirius’s own shoulder length curls – Sirius never failed to complain once a week how Harry was blessed with naturally straight hair, while he’d been cursed with ridiculous curls. He had even gotten Arcturus to take him to Saint Mungo’s and have his vision corrected by a specialist. It had been a transformation that had caused Neville and Daphne a second to realise it had been _him_ when he had arrived some weeks later when they were all three next met.

Neville had known he was allowing his hair to grow, an effort which Sirius had assisted him with a little magic, but he had been unaware of his plans to discard his glasses. The only real downside of the whole thing was he now sported a centre-parting, meaning it was far more difficult to hide his scar.

Daphne had briefly forgotten to check for the scar, and instead demanded to know who he was. A few moments later, she was hitting him with her latest book on runes for not telling her his plans. He enjoyed Daphne’s company – she was quiet for the most part.

A few days before Harry had been told of the trip, the three of them had been sat under one of the large trees on the Greengrass estate. They had been swapping hopes and dreams about their magical education at Hogwarts when they had gotten to the topic of Houses.

Neville had surprised him with his desire to be sorted into Gryffindor, the house of his father. Harry had been sure Neville would be better suited to Hufflepuff – he was a loyal friend, his best friend even.

Daphne had been no surprise, hoping for Slytherin. Her sharp tongue and quick mind were often overlooked as she cunningly hid behind a façade of cool indifference. Neville and Harry were going to pull another prank on Sirius? She’d huff, call their idea foolhardy and then go on to point out all the ways they could go about it, _without_ getting caught. She was downright _Slytherin_ when she got going.

Harry, as well as Neville had his eyes set firmly on Gryffindor – Sirius had done the math a year ago and giddily told him that the chances were high that he’d be assigned to their old room. He determined to sleep in the same bed his father had used throughout his Hogwarts years – it was a way of connecting physically, with the man he only ever got to hear tales of.

Harry sat back up and gulped in as much air as he could. Water dripped from his nose into the tub in a steady stream, and he had to blink away the few droplets that made it into his eyes. He brushed the same rune once again and watched as the suds and grime from his wash were drawn to the sides of the tub before promptly vanishing, leaving the water clean once again.

With a final dunk, with his fingers threading through his hair, Harry rid himself of any remaining suds and finished his bath. He stood slowly, aware of the smooth surface of the bottom of the tub and looked around for something to dry himself with.

Draped over a small table between the tub and the fire was a cotton towel large enough to wrap around himself. Raising his hand absently, he felt the towel leap into his awaiting hand before wrapping it around himself and stepping from the container fully.

One final tap of the original rune, and the water receded into the bottom of the tub before disappearing completely, with not a single speck of dirt or dampness to betray its previous use.

He dried himself quickly and efficiently as he padded his way over to the bed. The House Elves must be some of the most efficient and quiet he had ever come across – he hadn’t even heard them enter the room.

The simple dark tunic was trimmed with the colours of House Potter, a saturated blue and grey, while the rest of the tunic was a rich black to match his hair. Sirius told him it made his eyes _pop_ – the main reason he wore it, however, was to honour House Black in his own little way. The dark trousers were form-fitting but comfortable, and he’d be wearing his usual boots – though they’d been cleaned of the dust and dirt they had been covered on.

He quickly dressed, shrugging the clothes on before he attacked his hair with the towel once more. The resulting mass of hair was quickly combed and tied back into a manageable knot at the back of his head.

Feeling once more presentable, Harry nodded to himself as he checked himself over in the mirror before striding out the door. He found Sirius and Remus sat comfortably on the couches in the main room in similar clothes to his own, though their trimmings represented House Black. While Remus was thumbing through a book idly, he noticed Sirius was feeding his familiar a few crumbs of something.

Clearing his throat, he smiled at the two adults as he moved over to the table to retrieve his belt. Arcturus would skin him alive if he went anywhere without _some_ means to defend himself – as a result, the dagger was a constant weight on his belt. “We’ll be back soon, alright?” Harry whispered to the small bird.

A slow blink and a noise that could only be described as a _tweet_ was his only response. He gently scratched it on the top of its head where a small crown of feathers was beginning to appear before he looked at the two adults waiting for him. “I’m ready.” He sighed.

Sirius led the two of them through the corridors once again, and Harry was quite convinced that whoever had designed the layout of the keep had been insane. There were so many twists and turns, and _Gods_ don’t get him _started_ on the stairs!

Eventually, after a time, they arrived at what appeared to be a throne room. The banner depicting the golden dragon hung proudly from the rafters on the left-hand side, though interestingly enough, on the right-hand side were banners displaying a silver griffin with a wand in each talon atop a field of sage green.

The multiple tiers of viewing galleries were empty, and the room was lit with the soft silver-white glow of the floating balls of light.

The room was filled with tables from the large entry doors all the way to just before the large throne that was sat within the gaping maw of a huge metallic dragon. Each table was crammed full of men and women, each staring at the three of them as they entered.

Sirius stepped forward first, as his name was called. “Introducing the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Sirius Black!” The announcer proclaimed. Sirius bowed politely to the room at large before he was directed to the head table where the Viscount sat.

“Introducing Remus Lupin, Steward to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black!” Mimicking Sirius, Remus bowed a little lower before he was led to one of the lower tables. As he sat, Remus nodded to Harry with a small smile.

“Introducing the Lord-apparent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Harry Potter!” At the declaration of his family name, frantic whispering broke out among the occupant of the chamber. Ignoring them all, he too bowed at the waist and allowed himself to be led to his seat.

It wasn’t until he arrived at his chair that he realised he’d been seated between Sirius and the Viscount. His eyes wildly sought Sirius, who nodded ever so slightly to him. Sirius would look after him. He gulped a little as he sat in the chair.

For a moment, there was an absence of noise in the cavernous room. All the eyes before him were peering up at the head table curiously, wondering just what was to happen. Slowly, Trevelyan stood and clapped his hands – food appeared on every table at the sound – and called in his powerful voice, “Let the feast begin!”

Immediately hands reached out to snatch at food all around the hall. Harry would have thought that none of them had eaten a meal in a month based off of the ferocity with which everyone attacked their food.

To his right, Sirius gathered a light meal of chicken, potatoes, and a small variety of vegetables with a little gravy. Harry opted to instead have a serving of a dish that had minced beef, vegetables and potato combined into some sort of pie.

The table was quiet, besides the clattering of cutlery and the murmured conversation and occasional barks of laughter from the lower tables. Harry remembered his etiquette lessons and kept his elbows tucked in tightly, forkfuls of food small and his back straight. He would not engage in conversation until someone spoke to him.

“It is fortunate you arrived when you had, Lord Potter.” Trevelyan spoke for the first time, his face impassive as he sipped from his goblet.

Harry turned to look at him once he’d swallowed his food, “My Lord?”

“There were rumours that the last remaining heir to the Potter lands and title had died along with his parents. There were many in this court that believed your lands and wealth should be divided up between them.”

Harry flinched at the mention of his parents and fought hard to keep the scowl from his face, “I imagine they would think themselves so lucky, My Lord.” Sirius snorted quietly into his goblet.

“Tell me, young Harry. What plans have you for the future of your house?” Carth asked after a time – both of them, including Sirius had pushed their plates away.

“Plans, Lord Trevelyan?” Harry asked as he sipped his own goblet – it was a sweet summer wine from the tang on his lips.

Carth huffed out a quiet noise of amusement, “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you boy?”

“The last person to underestimate me was killed, or so the story goes.” Harry stared back, before he slowly added, “My Lord.”

“My daughter would like you, I’m sure.”

“You have a daughter, Lord Trevelyan?” Sirius asked, attempting to change the direction of the conversation.

“Aye, a daughter and a son – both old enough to be the boy’s parents. They are away from the city for now, but will return soon enough, I’m sure.”

“You must be very proud of them.” Sirius offered politely – Carth, however made no inclination one way or another. “I trust the Council has been informed of our desire to meet with them?”

“They have, you are expected to present yourselves before them at noon tomorrow.”

Sirius nodded and lifted his goblet in thanks. “You honour us with your assistance, Viscount.”

“Indeed.”

The rest of the feast passed in an oppressive silence as the rowdiness at the lower tables became louder and louder. It wasn’t long until both Harry and Sirius stood from the table and excused themselves pleading exhaustion from the long journey. Upon their departure from the hall, Remus joined them. By the time Harry stumbled into his room, he barely had the strength to divest himself of his clothes.

* * *

“You are to comport yourself with honour and dignity before the Council, do you understand me?” Sirius asked, his hand gently cupping Harry’s cheek. Harry nodded slowly.

He was dressed in a similar way to the previous night, only this time his tunic had the prowling white wolf of his house stitched proudly on his left breast.

“Good.” Sirius nodded in return as his hand dropped back to his side. “Come, it’s time.”

Sirius led him through a small garden courtyard that had a dazzling array of colour – there were reds, purples, whites, yellows, oranges and more. The fragrances were sweet and inviting and helped to relax him immensely.

He had so many questions about this _Council_ – who were they? Why were they seeing them?

Sirius stopped before an ancient looking door – its wood was flaking and peeling, with large knots providing dark spots all throughout the wood. The thing looked positively ready to crumble. Sirius gave a slight nod to himself before heaving the door open with a groan of its hinges.

Within was a large domed room. There were the large, intricate pillars that supported the walls – they were a full granite and their carvings were both crude and simple. Indeed, the entire room looked to have been carved out of a single enormous boulder.

Around the room in regular intervals were metal sconces that held an eerie blue flame. If the cool feel of the room were any indication, there appeared to be little, if any heat given from it, but he knew _Magefyre_ when he saw it. He had never seen it in person, but many of the tomes in the Black family library had references to the substance.

Despite the _appearance_ of flame, _Magefyre_ was in fact the magical imprint of flames long extinguished. While he wasn’t entirely clear on the specifics, as he understood it – only a witch or wizard with an innate and intimate relationship with fire were able to summon it. There were other connections for other people, such as those that connected with the other elements. Sirius had told him that his father had been able to summon _Magefyre_ from his fifth year.

“ _Greetings to the House of Black and the House of Potter_.” An ancient voice croaked, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.

Harry’s eyes were torn from the flames and found themselves fixated upon a large circular table in the centre of the room on a large stone dais. Around the table were twelve high-backed stone chairs with exquisitely carved statues in them.

Harry approached the table slowly, cautiously. He felt his magic calling to him, and before he could wrestle it under control, it rushed from him in powerful waves and into the stone table.

The sensation of so much magic leaving him was surprisingly soothing and left his chest feeling tingly. He had slammed his eyes shut at the first hint of his magic stirring, though when he opened them, he could barely believe his eyes.

Flowing in a steady stream towards a rune he hadn’t noticed in the centre of the table was _his magic_! It was visible! He’d never heard of anything like this – the startled noise Sirius made behind him told him he was equally shocked. Spells were often visible as they took form, but the innate magic in a person had only been theorised in its form – this appeared like water. It was dense, viscous, and dare-he-say, _pure_. It was beautiful.

“ _Long have we awaited your arrival_ …”

“ _… to awake the sleepers from stone…_ ”

“ _… to greet our magic with yours…_ ”

“ _… we welcome you…_ ”

“ _… Lord Harry Potter._ ”

As the staccato of voices came to their end, the eyes of the statues snapped open with a flash of pale blue light. Their pale blue eyes bore into him as his magic continued to trickle into the table.

“To whom am I speaking?” Harry asked after a moment.

“ _We are one and we are twelve, unified in our duty to our Lord… To our King_.”

Harry frowned, that answered absolutely nothing. “But _who_ are you?”

“ _We had names once, long ago. Families both great and powerful, though our names were forgotten._ ” One of the voices replied mournfully. “ _We are bound to this place to await his return_.”

“Who’s return?”

“ _The King’s_.”

“Are you the Council?” Harry asked after a short silence, his gaze sweeping across the unblinking statues.

“ _That is what we have become known as, aye._ ”

“My Godfather, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black has begged an audience with you.”

“ _We know. Come forth, scion of my blood._ ” A new voice called; the voice no less ancient but somehow more… tender?

Sirius slowly moved to stand by Harry, his eyes darting between the trickle of magic and the statues warily – his hands clasped before him.

“My Lords, myself and my grandfather – the Lord Arcturus Black, have questions pertaining to our charge.”

Harry looked up at Sirius – had hadn’t known they were seeing the Council about _him_! Had he done something wrong? Was something wrong with _him_? Sirius looked down at him and smiled reassuringly as he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“ _You will leave here today with no answers, only questions._ ”

“My Lords?” Sirius asked, surprised.

“ _Place the boy on the table before us_.”

Harry looked to Sirius nervously. Sirius seemed torn before nodding to himself. “Do it, pup.”

With a grunt, Harry pulled himself onto the stone table easily enough before walking to the centre. He noticed for the first time, that each of the statues were different – facial features were different, their armour varied though they all displayed the same sigil of the dragon and three crowns. He also noticed that the entire surface of the table was littered with various runes he didn’t recognise. Slowly, from the outside in they lit up with the same eerie blue as the eyes of the statues.

In a rush of magic that blew his hair about him wildly and flapped the loose material of his clothes, Harry gasped as he dropped to his knees and screamed.

His head felt like it was going to implode as his scar seared his forehead. The scar had always drawn the attention of those around him, as it appeared to have never healed. The angry lightning bolt above his right eye was a constant ugly red that was raw to the touch.

In all the years of it occasionally aching and throbbing through the darkest of nights, it had never compared to the agony he now suffered. He gripped at his head as the blood ran in thick trails down his face. His throat was raw and strained, and in the distance he thought he could hear Sirius screaming spells at the statues around him.

The magic continued to attack him mercilessly, and behind his eyelids the statues began to move and change. The rough stone fell away in large chunks, revealing the polished silver plates of armour and tanned skin of those inside them. They stood from their chairs and stood around him, kneeling in a circle upon the table and placing strong hands on his shoulders.

Time lost its meaning as he continued to scream. He could have been there for seconds, minutes, hours, or even days – he felt none of it besides the blinding pain.

Some time into it, when he thought he could take no more, there was a dull crack beneath him, and he fell backwards. He opened his eyes groggily to see a large oily mass writhing above him angrily. He tilted his head to the side and saw the statues had remained in-place. Had he imagined them changing?

He groaned as he sat up on his elbows and returned his gaze to the mass above him.

“What is that?”

“ _A remnant of twisted magic. No longer shall it torment you._ ”

“Harry!” Sirius called, slamming his fists against a milky white barrier that hadn’t been there before. He noticed for the first time that Remus also seemed to be there. How long had he been screaming? Both men looked shaken and haggard.

“I’m alright!” He groaned in reply, forcing himself to his knees slowly. There was a pulse of light above him and he turned just in time to watch the substance _shredded_ mercilessly.

“ _Your time with us is over. Go forth and return in time. We shall await you_.”

With that, the blue eyes around him closed and the barrier that had been keeping Sirius and Remus away dropped instantly. Neither man wasted any time in climbing upon the table and gathering him in their arms.

“Harry! _Merlin_ you put years on me!” Sirius moaned, wiping hair from Harry’s face as he was pulled bodily into the man’s lap and gently rocked back and forth.

“What happened, Harry?” Remus asked softly, kissing his brow.

“Not sure. Everything hurts.” He groaned softly in reply.

“Remus, help me get him to our rooms.” Sirius ordered, throwing Harry’s right arm around his neck – by the time he was pulled upright, he was unconscious.

* * *

He groaned as he sat up, his shoulders aching. He felt like he’d been trampled by a raging herd of Hippogriffs. A soft chirp from the pillow next to him revealed his little familiar and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello you.”

The little bird hopped across the pillow and nuzzled his cheek affectionately. He scratched it under the chin in return before throwing aside the covers. The last thing he remembered was Remus and Sirius worrying over him after _whatever_ happened with the Council.

And what was it that _had_ happened? Had that mass of oily dark magic been inside him this whole time? He had to admit that he felt lighter, more carefree – unburdened of a strange weight he couldn’t name.

He moved over to a nearby mirror and washbasin and splashed the fresh water on his face and neck. He placed his hands on either side of the basin for a moment, just allowing the water to drip from the tip of his nose. Tilting his head back slightly, he peered at his reflection – his eyes immediately drawing themselves to his scar.

He gasped – no longer was the scar ugly, raw, and fresh-looking. In its place was a thin red line that appeared completely healed. It was too wide to expect it to fade into pale skin and become almost invisible, but at the very least it was no longer as obvious as it had been. Perhaps people would stare at it less.

Gently, he allowed his fingers on his right hand to trace it. It no longer throbbed and would likely never weep again. He felt his eyes brimming with tears a little at the thought.

He blew out an unsteady breath and sniffed defiantly. He would not cry – that was what children did, and he was almost ten. In another year, he would be going to Hogwarts where he could become a proper wizard. He cleared his throat as he pulled away from the mirror.

The sounds of the city outside trickled through the open window, and he found himself shivering slightly at the gentle breeze that ghosted across his bare chest. He resolved to dress himself before doing anything else.

He palmed a tunic similar to the one he’d worn to meet the Council, though the neckline was slightly different in that it was a little more relaxed and breathable. With the garment neatly arranged, with the hem lightly hanging around his mid-thigh – he moved to the door after collecting his familiar.

He really needed to think of a name for his new companion, but he was torn. On the one hand, having a name for it would help to train it, but on the other hand, he had no idea what the _Hell_ it was. Did he really want to call it, say, _Snowy_ when it could be a _Thunderbird_ for all he knew? Though, a part of him couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of a _Thunderbird_ called Snowy, of all things.

He stepped into the main apartment to see Sirius scribbling on some parchment, and Remus reading a book on what appeared to be some take on charm spells. “Morning.” He groaned, slowly lowering himself into one of the spare couches.

The heads of both Sirius and Remus snapped in his direction. It appeared they had both been so preoccupied with their own work that they hadn’t heard him enter the room. “Prongslet!” They both called, using the most private of their terms of endearment. He smiled at the name – he knew it hurt them both to call him that, it being a reminder of his father and what had befallen him, but it was also Harry’s favourite name. It was another connection to his father.

“How are you feeling?”

“Are you alright?”

“Does anything hurt?”

“Are you dizzy at all?”

The rapid-fire questions that came at him caused him to blink dumbly for a moment as he watched the two adults leapt to their feet and rushed to him. A gentle nip to his left earlobe reminded him there was also _someone else_ who was interested in hearing how he felt.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I have a bit of a headache and I ache a little, but that’s it. I swear.” Harry replied, holding a hand up to stop any further questions while he massaged his forehead with his other hand.

“Harry…” Remus began, gasping.

“Your scar!” Sirius finished, the two adults peering at it closely.

“Yeah, I noticed it when I woke up.” Harry grinned, allowing a finger to trace it. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not for long, pup. Just for the night. You had us worried. What happened?” Sirius whispered, pulling Harry into a strong hug.

Harry felt his familiar squawk a protest and hop from his shoulder and onto the back of the couch at the action of his Godfather. Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius and buried his face in the thin leather tunic and inhaled deeply. Sirius always smelt of a strange combination of leather, the deep musky aftershave he was partial to, and just the faintest hint of dog.

“I don’t know. I got on the table, and then the next thing I know I’m looking up at that black mass above me.”

“Harry, that came _out_ of you.” Remus murmured quietly. Harry pulled away from Sirius at that.

“You’re sure?”

Remus nodded slowly. “We saw it. Did they say what it was?”

“I think they called it a ‘ _remnant of twisted magic’_? That was all they said.”

Sirius and Remus looked between themselves for a moment before Sirius sighed. “Pup, when Arcturus and I arrived at Hogwarts to collect you, they told us there was some Dark Magic attached to your scar, but they had no idea of what it was, nor how to remove it.”

Harry sat there quietly, letting the words process themselves in his mind. So, it _had_ come from him. _Merlin_ , there was _so much of it_! How could that have gotten inside him? Was it some dark reflection of his own magic or maybe…?

“It was something to do with Voldemort, wasn’t it? Something he did to me that night.”

Sirius nodded slowly, but it was Remus who spoke, “We can’t be sure, but that’s our best guess.”

“He _is_ gone, right? He’s not coming back?” He asked, his voice tight with emotion. He fell back against the cushion behind him, his familiar cooing against his cheek.

“Yeah, pup. He’s gone.”

Harry nodded absently, running his hands down his face tiredly. “How long until we go home?”

“We leave at first light for the Potter lands here. Arcturus will meet us in Wales when we leave here. We’re introducing you to your ancestral seats.” Sirius smiled, taking the seat next to him.

“ _Seats_? As in plural?”

“Of course – there’s the one here, and the one in Britain.”

“So, what’s the one here called? You’ve had me study Rosestone until I could walk around it blindfolded.” Harry murmured as he stared up at the ceiling tiredly. He felt so exhausted, but he’d only just woken up.

“Arpton Keep. It’s close enough to Rosestone’s layout and design, but just on land rather than an island. It’s on a cliff, sat between two huge waterfalls.”

“It sounds impressive.”

Sirius nodded slowly, “It is.” Sirius leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Your father showed it to me just before our final year at Hogwarts.”

“Then I’ll get to see it with your and Remus just before my first year.” Harry grinned at both men. Remus smiled at him warmly before they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Sirius frowned before he stood to open the door, and from the murmured voices, he wasn’t impressed. Harry sat himself up a little more.

“I’ve a message for the Lord Potter?” Ah, so it was a messenger then.

“What’s the message?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to his familiar.

“Lord Trevelyan requests your presence in his solar promptly. Lord Black is to remain here.” The gaunt looking woman replied with an air of aloofness, her copper hair tied back in an intricate braid that complimented her dress.

He looked at Sirius, who shrugged. “If he’s requested your presence and I’ve been ordered to stay here, there’s not much I can do, pup.”

Harry nodded slowly as he felt the familiar on his shoulder shift from foot to foot. “Very well. I’ll be back soon, Sirius. Remus, keep an eye on him, will you?” He had tried to sound casual, but it felt hollow, even to him.

The woman nodded and gestured for him to follow. He hadn’t noticed, but she appeared to have been escorted by a pair of burly looking guards. The echo of the quartet’s shoes, and the clinking of metal armour plates were the only accompaniment to their short journey.

* * *

They arrived promptly at an opulent set of apartments, presumably the home of the Viscount. The woman knocked three times before the command to enter was called through the wood. The woman opened the door for him before saying, “Lord Potter, as you requested My Lord.”

The guards moved to take position on either side of the door in the corridor.

“Very good, you may leave us.” Carth intoned gravely from his desk. He was sat at a large oak table, covered in a neat sort of chaos as he scribbled away at some parchment. Between himself and Carth Trevelyan sat a blonde-haired woman, whose hair was braided into elegant waves that fell to the small of her back. As she turned to peer over her shoulder at him, he noted her sage green sleeveless dress, high cheekbones, pouty lips, and green eyes.

His escort curtsied once and left the room promptly. Harry bowed properly at the waist and waited patiently with his hands clasped at the small of his back and his feet a shoulder’s width apart. The woman had turned dismissively back to the Lord Trevelyan and continued to sip from the crystal goblet she had been holding.

“Sit.” Came the eventual command. Harry bowed his head, despite nobody in the room looking in his direction and did as he was told. Carth continued scribbling.

The silence continued on, save for the gentle tapping of Trevelyan dipping his quill in more ink. The silence suited Harry just fine. It gave his eyes a chance to dart across the desk and to take in the details of the room that he could see.

The room was furnished with the same hue of green that he had seen on the banners in the great hall, with that same Griffon on almost every item in the room. It appeared to be the banner of House Trevelyan – he wondered what their House Words were? _We who make people wait_ , sprang to mind.

“I suspect you wonder why I summoned you.” Trevelyan finally remarked, still scratching away.

“It had crossed my mind.” Harry replied evenly.

“Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Alara Trevelyan – my second born.” Carth said, finally looking up from his parchment and placing his quill alongside half a dozen others in a neat line.

Harry inclined his head politely in Alara’s direction. “My Lady.”

“Lord Potter.” She replied evenly, returning her own nod.

“Now, onto matters of business. As you are no doubt aware, you are the last with any claim to the lands and titles of the House of Potter.” Carth sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers before his chest. “As such, there are certain _obligations_ that have to be met.”

“My Lord?” He asked, his brow furrowing.

“Heirs. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter is one of the oldest families in our world. It is your _duty_ to continue that bloodline. You are aware of this, I take it?”

“I am, Lord Trevelyan.”

“Excellent. I trust you can understand my concern when we hear there are _wars_ being fought beyond the _Ro’rim_?” Trevelyan asked, an eyebrow quirking.

“I can certainly understand your point of view on this, yes.”

“And as the young man lauded for ending the last conflict, as a babe no less, this puts us in an interesting position.”

“And what position would that be, Lord Trevelyan?” Harry asked, his own eyebrow raised curiously.

“I propose, instead of returning through the _Ro’rim_ with the Black’s, you instead remain here at the Citadel. You shall be afforded the highest education money can buy, and in time you will join your house to mine.”

Alara, to his right, choked on the mouthful of her drink she had taken. He looked at her confused.

“Are you offering a betrothal, Lord Trevelyan?” The man nodded. “I wasn’t aware you had any children my age.”

“I don’t. You will wed my daughter. She is widowed, but still of an age to have children.”

The words echoed through his mind. He was being offered the Viscount’s daughter. Why? It was political manoeuvring; of that he was sure. But why now? Did he know they were leaving in the morning?

“ _What_?!” Alara snapped, finally having regained control over her breathing. Her cheeks were flame red. “He is a _child_.”

“And he shall reach his majority in only a few short years. This will be a benefit to both Houses, and you shall hold your tongue and do as commanded.”

Harry shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “I thank you for the offer, Lord Trevelyan, but respectfully I have to decline.”

“On what grounds?”

“Respectfully, My Lord, I decline on the basis that I’ll be attending Hogwarts as my father and mother both did. I also intend to return to Blackwall Estate with the men that have raised me since I was a babe.” Harry replied evenly – he noticed Alara’s fury had tempered itself a little.

“In that case, I will not be able to protect your lands and titles were something to befall you, Lord Potter. It is my understanding that you plan to travel to the Potter lands before returning home?” Trevelyan asked before continuing at Harry’s nod. “I must warn you that the roads are… _ill-maintained_ and are often prowled by dangerous creatures. It would be a shame if Heir Black were unable to protect you adequately.”

The subtle threat hung in the air, and Harry found himself gripping the arms of his chair tightly. “I assure you, Lord Trevelyan – Sirius Black takes any and _all_ threats to my person with the utmost seriousness.”

“We can only hope he lives up to your ringing endorsement. It seems our business is concluded. The guards at the door shall escort you back to your chambers, Lord Potter.”


	8. Harry III

They had departed the Capitol early the following morning, all eager to be rid of the Viscount Trevelyan and his not-so-subtle schemes. According to Sirius, Carth Trevelyan had a reputation for ruthlessness – they were glad to be rid of him.

Upon their departure, they had enlisted the services of half a dozen guards to escort them to Potter lands. They rode in a loose formation around Sirius, Remus and himself – their eyes constantly scouring their surroundings.

They had moved south of the Capitol and had followed the cobbled road easily enough, enjoying the occasional cover of shade that the tall trees on either side provided. On his shoulder, his familiar slept, curled up in the crook of his neck, burrowed between the doublet beneath his gambeson and his skin.

It had relaxed him, to a degree. He had been on edge, almost jumping at shadows since Trevelyan’s less than subtle threat the night before. It was obvious even to him, that the older man had expected to bully and intimidate him into agreeing. It was another thing to be thankful of Arcturus for – he doubted he’d have the courage and fortitude to have refused the Viscount otherwise.

His mind drifted to his eldest guardian. It had been some time since he had seen Arcturus – the longest length of time he’d gone without him in his entire life, in fact. He couldn’t help but recall just how _exhausted_ he’d appeared as he’d stumbled from the hall after renewing the fealty of his people. He had never truly been concerned for the man before, but recently Harry couldn’t help but take a little more notice of his age.

While Arcturus was in fact, for a wizard at least, just a little over halfway through his life expectancy, he looked a number of decades older than he should. Witches and wizards, he had learned, don’t age in the same way Muggles do – it was due in part to their magic. Magic was an energy source – almost infinite in supply, and as those born with the gift had learned over many thousands of years, how to allow their bodies to tap into this resource almost subconsciously.

It was almost a forced evolution, in a way – it was also why being stripped of your magic was considered as a more _humane_ death penalty. Without access to that magic, the body would deteriorate and age in a much more Muggle fashion – though, it was _far_ more dangerous to be stripped of magic as an adult rather than a child. Children could survive the process and live out their lives – the same could not be guaranteed for adults. Rapid aging over the course of a few hours was often documented in the books he had read in the Black family library.

He blinked lazily as the motion of the mare beneath him rocked him side-to-side slowly. He had enjoyed the trip if he were honest with himself. While it could _never_ compete with a broom, there was something _natural_ in it. Perhaps it would make an interesting hobby when they returned to Blackwall – at the very least it would make his next visit to the Capitol less embarrassing.

He looked to his right and smiled slightly at the young witch that had become his unofficial shadow on the journey. She had a friendly face, with a sharp jaw and dark hair that was braided over her shoulder. Her robes and armour were the same as those he had seen in the rest of the Capitol, and the staff that had been constantly gripped in her left hand practically _oozed_ with power.

“Did you make your staff, or were you given it?” He asked after a time, watching as the corners of her mouth struggled not to rise. Unlike her companions, she hadn’t raised the small hood sewn into her armour over her head.

“I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d finally ask me about it, Little Lord.” She replied evenly, keeping her eyes on the nearby treeline to her right.

“I’ve never seen staves like them before. Everyone uses wands in Britain.” He shrugged, eyeing the red crystal ball the size of his head atop the staff, and the wicked looking double-edged blade that took up the bottom third of the shaft.

“Not surprisin’. Wands are easier to hide.” She chuckled, the sound deep and low. It was a contrast to her voice, which was soft and kind.

She wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t imagine attempting to pass off a staff in the Muggle-world. At least with a wand it could be held in a holster of some-kind – most witches and wizards used either a wrist holster or a similar one on their waist.

“To answer your question, Little Lord, I made it myself. Cypress wood for the shaft, Mithril blade and a blood-ruby focus.” She replied quite smugly.

“Blood-ruby? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. It’s not common, to be true.” She shrugged, idly shifting her grip on the weapon in her hand. “Blood-rubies are found under old battlegrounds where enough blood and magic were seeped into the soil. They make deadly foci for staves.”

Harry nodded slowly at that, eying the smooth sphere atop the staff even more appreciatively. “How does the staff compare to the wand? Sorry, I also realised I never asked your name?”

He received a quiet chuckle for his words. “The name’s Clara Appleton, milord. Not often a Lord like yerself would take an interest in someone of my station. You honour me, Little Lord.” She glanced at him and smiled kindly. “As for staves… They’re more powerful, but less focused. Not to mention a little tricky in a fight.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Harry replied slowly, eyeing the cumbersome looking weapon. He peered at the rest of their company.

Besides Clara, there were two others with staves – though their designs were much different. One seemed to be a simple large chunk of wood, while the other was an elaborate design of sharp angles and spikes at the top, with a scythe-like blade at the bottom.

The other three members of their escort had a weapon of some kind attached to their belts – a mace and two swords between them and assumed they would rely on their wands. While Clara had been professional and friendly, the other guards had been distant and stoic. He was glad she had taken position nearest him.

They continued in silence for a time, with nearby birds singing away in the branches around them. The temperature was pleasantly cool, and the sky was littered with a number of large white clouds – idly he began attempting to form images out of their wispy forms.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the cloud that looked a little like a Grim – he wondered what Sirius would think of it. Though, a part of him didn’t want to inflate Sirius’s ego to the point where he thought the _clouds_ were imitating him. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

His familiar stirred a little on his shoulder, nipping at his ear playfully. He had noticed in the night that the stunted beak he had first noticed was becoming more pronounced and hooked – almost like an Eagle’s.

He chuckled at the action and reached absently into one of the small bags hooked to the front of his saddle. After a moment of idle fumbling, he offered a small piece of burned bacon to the little creature and smiled when it was snatched from his fingertips.

It seemed to be growing quite well, with its frame filling out a little more on an almost daily basis. Even in comparison to the day before, the body of his little friend appeared much healthier – even the skin appeared a much more normal hue of pink.

A noise in front of him drew his attention to Sirius, who was muttering angrily with Remus – no doubt about the Viscount’s threat. What the man would do in response was anyone’s guess, and Sirius had _barely_ been held back from challenging the older man to a duel. Sirius had pouted and scowled all day – his magic had been wild and barely restrained as a result.

But what could they do? They had been staying in the man’s home for all intents and purposes, and even Harry knew that breaking the honoured tradition of _Guest-right_ was to invite chaos upon those who did.

Besides, soon enough they would all be safely beyond the reach of Trevelyan and any danger within the Potter lands – though he had to admit, he had absolutely no idea what the Potter lands actually held. He knew they were vast, according to the late-night conversation he, Sirius and Remus had had in an attempt to distract themselves.

“Little Lord,” Clara began hesitantly. He turned to face her curiously. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but I was wondering what your plans were once you reached your lands?”

“I suppose that’s up to Sirius and Remus. I don’t know much about my duties here.” He shrugged, nodding in his guardian’s direction.

“I was unaware, Little Lord. I take it this is your first visit?” She asked, a finely shaped eyebrow raised slightly.

“Aye, it is. It’s like nothing I could have imagined.” He grinned, earning one in reply. After a moment he asked, “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what, milord?”

“Little Lord.”

“You’re little and you’re a lord.” She shrugged in response, as if it made perfect sense. He had to admit, she wasn’t wrong.

“True. Can’t imagine it would go over too well with many others, though.” He grinned cheekily, earning a snort of amusement.

“Aye, you’re not wrong on that account. Though, not much interaction with noblefolk like yerself in my day-to-day.”

He nodded at that. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine it would be particularly common for a guard to interact with anyone from the noble families on a regular basis. Perhaps their household guard, but that was about it.

“What are they like? The other nobles, I mean.” Harry found himself asking, shifting in his saddle as they meandered around a lazy bend.

“They’re like nobles, milord. Not my place to question them.” She shrugged, her dark eyes darting to the shadows as they passed. What she was looking for, he couldn’t say.

As the road straightened out once more, they were greeted with an odd sight. A hundred metres from them sat a man in a dark cloak leaning against a gnarled stick that seemed thicker in width than Harry’s waist – even from this distance.

The party came to a stop – they hadn’t come across anyone else on the road all day. Immediately, the guards closed in around them, forcing Sirius, Remus and himself into the centre with a pair of guards on each side. He glanced nervously at Clara, who winked at him in return.

“Don’t you worry, Little Lord. You stick close to me, and I’ll protect you.”

His heart was hammering in his chest. After Trevelyan, he’d been on edge all day to some degree. He had tried to distract himself, but in the seriousness of the situation it all came flooding back.

“Leygood, ride out and check him.” One of the guards commanded – the grizzled man, who’s face Harry had noticed earlier that morning was covered in scars was the one that had claimed seniority.

“Aye sir.” Leygood replied – he was a younger wizard and the one Harry had noticed had carried the mace on his hip.

They watched in silence as the young man galloped towards the stranger. At this distance, they couldn’t hear what was said, but after a moment Leygood appeared to edge his horse forward and nudged the stranger with the toe of his boot.

The stranger collapsed in three pieces. “It’s a tra-“ Leygood yelled, spurring his horse back to the group. Even at this distance his voice was panicked, though his words were cut off as he fell backwards off of his horse like a doll. His horse continued galloping, though Leygood’s foot was still caught in one of the stirrups and was dragged along behind.

“Form up! Shields and barriers! Nothing gets through!” The same grizzled guard yelled – instantly snapping a large white shield into existence with a sharp slash of his wand.

Noises on either side of him revealed a dozen or so men in patchwork armour and chainmail that lazily strolled out from the undergrowth. All were of varying size and build, and all were wearing matching smirks. One of the brigands waved their wand and twin columns of flame cut off the road ahead and behind them. They were trapped.

“Off the horses! Close ranks!”

Harry leapt from his mare, hurrying to Sirius’s side – Clara was right behind him, her eyes never leaving their attackers.

“Harry, stay close to me.” Sirius commanded, his own wand in-hand. Remus was next to him with his own.

“Lay down your weapons and we’ll make it quick!” A voice called out imperiously. “You’re outnumbered!”

“Allow us passage and no-one need die!” Clara called back angrily.

“Kill them.”

Chaos erupted around them. Spells were shot from wands and impacted on the strong shields the guards had erected. Over their shoulders, Sirius and Remus threw their own volleys at those they could. A pair of screams indicated their hits. On his shoulder, his familiar was hoping up and down angrily.

“Anyone that dies without taking at least one of them with you, I’ll make an _Inferi_ out of your _fucking corpse_!” One of the guards growled before letting loose with a number of rapid cutting curses.

Harry watched from among the press of bodies as the dark red bursts of energy slashed at one of the brigand’s shields before the shield shattered under the onslaught. The final burst of light opened his stomach up from hip to shoulder. The wet slaps of his innards spilling from the wound were followed shortly by the limp corpse following it moments later.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

A nearby scream caused him to open his eyes. To his left, one of the guards had taken a blasting hex to his leg and had toppled to the floor clutching at his bloody stump. Another flash of light reduced his chest to a large crater. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes from the vacant, pain-filled expression that had been frozen on his face.

His gaze flicked up at one of the approaching brutes. There was nothing between him and Harry. Just as he was about to panic, a flash of yellow struck the man in the shoulder and he was thrown backwards with a sickening crunch against one of the many trees. Sirius stepped before him, his wand flicking this way and that. If Sirius was there, he was safe. He was protected.

The circle of warriors closed in, covering the gap in their defences. Through the press of bodies and the gaps between his defender’s legs, Harry spotted the results of his defence: bodies lying in the dirt motionless while others clutched and grabbed at bloody wounds.

Another guard fell, the remains of his head falling around them in a spray of gore and bone. A piece landed at Harry’s feet that still had clumps of matted hair attached to it. Before he could stop himself, he was doubled over and spilling his lunch onto the ground.

A sharp whip-like crack pierced in the air, and he was sent flying. He landed in a crumpled heap a few metres from the wall of flame that had cut off their retreat. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. His ears were ringing. He shook his head as he looked for his familiar.

It seemed that whatever attempt had been made to knock them down, had also knocked their attackers down. There was a short reprieve while everyone stumbled back to their feet. Clara rushed over to him, her staff in her right hand and his familiar held carefully in her left. She pushed the bird into his hands and pushed him in the direction of a large boulder roughly. Her words were slow and muffled by the ringing in his ears, but he obeyed.

From where he crouched, he watched the battle renew. Without the need to protect a child, the guards rallied alongside Sirius and Remus, slowly advancing on the less organised attackers. Remus twirled a quick motion with his wrist just before a brilliant white light shot out of its tip, the light piercing the chest of one of the largest men he had ever seen. He collapsed in a boneless heap.

There had to only be eight attackers now, but in that moment two of them rushed the remaining two guards. Clara, he noticed, caught a short, wicked looking sword on the blade of her staff before slapping it out of the way and spinning the staff in her hand. With a powerful swing, she cracked her opponent across the jaw with the heavy crystal. As her opponent staggered away, she aimed with the crystal and unleashed a powerful arc of lighting at his exposed back. The man was launched half a dozen meters as his back was blown to pieces.

She looked his way for a brief moment, shouting something to him with a panicked look. She barely managed two words before something impacted the side of her head and blew it to pieces.

Her remaining dark eye stared at him vacantly from where she had crumpled to the ground.

The tears were freely flowing down his cheeks.

He cried out in surprise as a hand roughly covered his mouth and he felt the tip of a wand stabbing into his throat just behind his jaw. Sirius turned to look at him in alarm, his wand raised. Remus stood at his back, his forehead slick with sweat. One guard remained standing but was also being held at wand-point.

“One move and I kill the boy!” The voice behind him snarled.

“Harm a hair on him and I’ll rip you to pieces.” Sirius growled dangerously. Harry looked at his Godfather pleadingly as he struggled. “It’ll be alright, pup.”

Harry noticed there were only four of their attackers remaining, all with their wands pointed at those of their own party who had survived.

A startled yelp from his captor drew his attention to his familiar. The loyal little bird had buried its wicked looking beak into the soft flesh of his attacker’s arm, and Harry couldn’t help the spike of fear that went through him. What would this person do to his familiar? If they were capable of such bloody murder, were they also capable of murdering his defenceless little friend? He wouldn’t allow it!

The hand on his mouth was removed, only to quickly wrap a tight fist around the creature. “No! You can’t!” Harry screamed, fighting against the other arm that had wrapped itself around his neck. He threw his elbows back and kicked backwards with his heels as his hands struggled to loosen the grip.

With an angry curse, the man – beast, as he refused to believe a man could be so evil to have done all of this, threw his familiar through the air.

He watched; his throat clenched in fear as his companion arced through the air. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

There was a brilliant flash of orange light as a small sun exploded where his familiar had been. The roiling mass of flame lashed out angrily before the dull snaps of wings beating matched the thumping of his heart.

With flames still licking its body, the gorgeous red feathers caught the sunlight and looked like small flames themselves. The previously stunted beak that had only just begun to hook was now longer, fully pronounced and looked _deadly_. The ugly oversized glossy black eyes were now proportionate to the rest of the bird and surrounded by a dark, almost black skin. A crown of red feathers capped the bird’s head.

A screech from the creature echoed in the silence angrily. A burst of light from his captors wand leapt towards the magnificent bird, but just before it could impact, the bird burst into bright flames once again and the curse passed harmlessly through where the bird _had_ been.

There was a momentary burst of heat behind him, and he looked over his shoulder suddenly to see wicked-looking talons bury into the shoulder of the beat behind him. A startled scream of pain and surprise and both creature and beast were swallowed by another burst of flame.

The clearing was silent as those on opposing sides looked at one another and around their immediate area for the man. A small tugging sensation in the back of his mind pulled his eyes skywards. He caught sight of the creature high above them, holding a struggling human in its grasp. With a horrifying scream, the beast was released and left to fall to the ground.

The body impacted the ground heavily, the skull smashing open on the hard cobblestone road as blood began to pool beneath it.

Another burst of flame and another of their attackers disappeared. His resulting scream as he plummeted to his death spurred both Sirius and Remus into action. Sirius lashed out with his wand, launching his captor in two separate directions with a powerful cutting curse and a blasting hex. Remus, who had been freed of being held at wand-point lashed out at the remaining brigand and cleanly beheaded him. The remaining guard slumped to the floor, exhausted.

Harry stumbled into the road and watched with wide eyes as the creature elegantly glided down to the floor before him – its talons clacking against the rough stone and its head tilted curiously to the side. Stood before him, the bird came to his waist and was half as broad as himself. It hopped curiously forward, a soft trill escaping its maw.

Sirius rushed over to him and swept him into his embrace. “Harry, are you alright? Are you hurt? Tell me, son.” He whispered, sweeping his hair behind his ears. Harry nodded numbly and continued to stare at the bird.

“She’s a Phoenix, Sirius.” He whispered, barely able to hear the words himself. Had he said them aloud?

Sirius turned his head and regarded the bird carefully. Remus and the remaining guard joined them, both looking a little worse for wear. “I dare say she is, pup.” He said slowly.

Harry reached out a trembling hand, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him as the adrenaline left his system. Had it only been a few minutes? It had felt so much longer. The Phoenix hopped a step closer before it nuzzled into his open palm.

“I think she needs a name.” Remus whispered as the remaining guard dropped to his knees.

Harry was quiet for a time, his gaze locked on his familiar. He had heard of Phoenix’s becoming familiars, but it was so _rare_ it was almost unheard of. The only other Phoenix that he was aware of was Fawkes, Dumbledore’s familiar, which in itself caused a huge uproar when it had happened shortly after Grindelwald’s defeat.

Harry stared into its eyes, his head pounding with the rhythmic thumping of his heart. “ _Clara_.” He murmured after a moment, gently rubbing his thumb over the crown of feathers on its head. Clara trilled her agreement softly as she shook her body slightly.

Eventually, he tore his eyes from the bird and looked around at the devastation around them. “What do we do?”

Remus sighed as Sirius rocked back on his heels wearily. “We’ll bury our fallen and mark their final resting places. The others we’ll burn.” Sirius nodded his agreement to Remus’s plan.

“I want to help.” Harry replied, feeling the tears form once again.

“You’ve done _beautifully_ , Harry. Let me take it from here.” Sirius replied, affectionately cupping his cheek, and wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb. Harry nodded numbly and allowed himself to be walked back to the boulder he had hidden behind.

Clara followed alongside him, hopping into the air, and gliding the short distance. Sirius sat him down facing the treeline. His hands shook violently, and he balled them into fists in an attempt to hold them still. Clara nipped at his ear as she nuzzled his cheek.

As Sirius moved to help the remaining guard he didn’t know the name of and Remus, he found himself fit to burst. With a shuddering sob, he threw his arms around his familiar and wept into its feathers in sporadic gasps.

The Phoenix moved into the embrace, its neck curling over the filthy leather gambeson on his shoulder. He felt so _helpless_. Clara died because she was distracted by _him_. If he’d have grabbed a wand, surely he could have helped! Distracted someone long enough for Clara or one of the others to focus on the fight!

His one saving grace of the entire ordeal was that both Sirius and Remus had survived and seemed unscathed. Was this what fighting was like? How often would he be in this situation in his life? His parents had been murdered when he was a child – he couldn’t handle it if anyone else he knew was murdered.

He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose as the sobs ebbed from his body. The tears continued their way down his cheeks, but he felt oddly… _numb_. He leaned back and took in the face of his familiar and attempted to offer it a small smile of thanks – though he noticed the small pool of tears in its own eyes.

“Don’t cry.” He sniffled, swiping the sleeves of his tunic across his cheeks. He pulled the hem of his sleeve down over his hand a little and dabbed away the Phoenix’s tears with as much care as he could manage. “All better.” He murmured.

A sharp crack and a bloom of light and heat behind him caused him to turn around. He saw the remains of their attackers dumped into a pile of bodies alight with yellow-orange flame. They had been thrown onto the pile unceremoniously by a still furious looking Sirius, while Remus and the guard appeared to have finished burying the fallen and were fashioning some markers.

His gaze returned to Sirius, who remained before the burning brigands. With the soft glow from the flames on his face, and the way his half-tied-back hair blew in the breeze he could think of no greater man to look up to. He remembered the first moment he _truly_ felt like he was going to die – when there had been nothing between him and that brigand, only for Sirius to step unflinchingly between them with his wand raised. Sirius hadn’t hesitated.

He loved Sirius deeply, and in many ways he was his father. James Potter was a stolen from him in Godric’s Hollow, and for all Sirius and Remus had told him, he was a man made of stories who had passed his blood and name onto him. He loved his first father deeply, he truly did, but for all intents and purposes he was a _Black_.

It was Sirius who had been with him on every birthday. Sirius who had tucked him in at night and kissed his forehead. It didn’t lessen the profound impact and moments Remus and Arcturus had on his life, but they didn’t share the connection he and Sirius did.

In that moment, with the image of Sirius stood before the impromptu pyre in his gambeson and gorget, he knew who he wanted to make proud above all else. Never again would he be helpless and afraid.

He drew in a shaky breath and walked over to his Godfather. Sirius noticed his presence and turned before he knelt before him, the scowl disappearing completely as it was replaced by a look Harry could only describe as utter relief. Harry threw his arms around the older man’s neck, the steel of their gorgets scraping together as Sirius rocked back from the force a little.

“I love you, Sirius.” He whispered, feeling Sirius’s right hand begin gently stroking the back of his head.

“I love you too pup.” Sirius croaked quietly, wrapping his free arm around Harry’s waist.

“Promise me you’ll always be there.”

There was a quiet moment between the two of them. Sirius nodded slowly, “I’ll always be there, Harry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to go home.” He murmured as the stench of cooking flesh threatened to empty his stomach once again.

“Why don’t you go over to Remus while I go and round up the horses, hm?”

He’d forgotten about the horses in all the chaos. They must have bolted at some point after they’d dismounted. “Clara can help you. I don’t want you going off alone.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the responsible one, remember?” Sirius grinned weakly as he pulled away to look Harry in the eye. “I’ll take Clara and we’ll _both_ be careful, okay?”

Harry nodded tiredly.

“Good. Come on, let’s get you to Remus.”

* * *

They arrived at Arpton Keep just as the sun began making its final descent beyond the horizon, with the warm orange glow bathing the stonework in its glow.

On either side of the path, two metres below them on either side were a pair of rushing rivers – they were each a light crystal blue, and on occasion Harry thought he could spot the odd fish darting between the rocks.

The castle itself was nestled on a cliff-top, its tall curtain walls protecting it from all directions while the rivers cascaded over the precipice in what must have been gorgeous waterfalls. A part of him wished to look up at the keep from the fields he imagined were below it.

The keep itself was a fairly traditional castle, with a mixture of circular and square towers of varying heights surrounding a large central keep. It didn’t feel right that it was _his_.

Harry sighed quietly as he took in the state of their beleaguered party. He had paid his respects to the graves of the guards who had given their lives, though he had lingered at Clara’s. It was only natural, he supposed, that he would feel a greater connection with her as she was the only one who he’d had any real form of interaction with.

The remaining guard, a forty-year-old wizard by the name of Felix Cale, was the wizard he had noticed with the angular staff. He seemed a friendly sort, if a little withdrawn but Harry didn’t blame him with everything that had happened.

Above him, he heard Clara give a small trill of excitement as she swooped through the air, with her long tail feathers leaving a small trail of flames in the approaching night’s sky.

A trio of horn-blasts called out from the castle.

It was a few minutes later when they stopped before the gate and a voice called down to them from among the crenellations. Now they were closer, he also noticed there were a number of hoardings on the towers that appeared at regular intervals along the wall.

“State your business, strangers. Who comes before Arpton Keep at this hour?”

“The Lord Potter has come to claim this castle and its lands!” Sirius bellowed in return. Harry noticed his Godfather was clutching the reins tightly in his grip. “We were ambushed on the road and have little patience to remain outside of a castle that _by rights_ belongs to the Potters!”

There was silence from the keep, no doubt those on the other side of the wall were debating back and forth. The clunk of the lone portcullis’s chain being winched drew his eyes to the gatehouse before them.

The metal gate rose slowly, as the chain clinked and clanked in the silence of the evening. Harry swayed side to side a little as his mare shuffled a little nervously at the noise. He reached forward and gave it a reassuring pat on its neck. It had taken Sirius hours to track the horses down. He hadn’t found the one that had dragged Leygood’s corpse off, and some others had disappeared too. Luckily, Sirius had found his own, Remus’s and Harry’s easily enough – though he had only been able to find one of the guard’s horses for Felix.

The heavy gate swung open and a small group of men strode out nervously – their hands nervously twitching towards the weapons that hung from their belts. He noted that their armour was similar to Felix’s besides the colour and the sigil. Rather than the deep reds the guards in the Capitol had favoured, these men wore the blue and grey of House Potter and the prowling wolf emblazoned proudly on their chests and gorgets.

“Which of you is the Lord Potter?” A gruff voice questioned from within the detachment of men. Harry noted that they were all looking at Sirius and Remus, dismissing him out of hand.

“I am.” He announced in as strong a voice as he could manage, given the day’s events. He swung himself from his horse and stepped before the group. “I, Harry of the House Potter, son of James and Lily Potter claim this castle and its lands by right of blood and magic.”

As the words left his mouth, Clara swooped to the ground elegantly beside him, hopping forward once imperiously. At the sight of the Phoenix, the men dropped to a knee and bowed their heads, murmuring a quiet “Milord”.

“May I enter my castle?” He asked, quickly gesturing for them to rise. He looked over his shoulder at his three companions, all of whom nodded at him encouragingly. When he looked back at the men before him, they practically tripped over themselves to make way for him. One guard had run back through the gate and announced the return of their lord.

A guard rushed to gather the reins of his horse as they were led through the gate, the oak doors looked to be at least eight inches thick and banded with what appeared to be bars of Mithril reinforced the wood. These gates would not break easily, at least.

As he stepped into the courtyard, Sirius, Remus and Felix had dismounted and walked their horses through behind him, he noticed everyone gathered and staring in his direction. The courtyard was beautiful, with colourful flowers and twisting ivy growing up and around the buildings – though what those buildings were for, he couldn’t say.

The entire courtyard knelt as one.

“Rise.” He called, his voice echoing in the silence. He looked around at the guards that were spread throughout the courtyard and along the walls, all with just as much variety in their weapons as there were in the Capitol.

The population of the castle rose silently, and a middle-aged wizard stepped forward. His shoulder-length brown hair was greying at the temples and the top and sides were pulled into a knot at the back of his head. His leather tunic and boots were of a fine quality and cut in a similar style to his own though there was no sigil beside the wolf on his breast. “My Lord,” The man began, bowing his head and clasping his hands at the small of his back. “My name is Brandon, of House Aves. I have been the Steward for this castle ever since your father assigned me. It would be my honour to introduce you to your keep at your convenience. Shall I arrange for you to take the Lord’s apartment tonight or would you prefer other quarters?”

“I would like quarters near my Godfather, Sirius Black and my uncle Remus Lupin. Where Felix wishes to stay is entirely up to him – it has been a difficult day for all of us.”

It seemed in that moment that Brandon noticed the dried blood on all of their armour. “You encountered trouble on the road?” He gasped, shocked.

“A dozen brigands ambushed us. Our party departed the Capitol with six guards, unfortunately Felix here was the only survivor.” Sirius replied, clasping a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “The fallen will be mourned.”

Brandon nodded; his face drawn in a concerned frown. Clara chirped at Harry’s side, affectionately nipping at his fingers. “I see you have found a friend in your travels.” Brandon chuckled, eyeing the swan-sized bird with a raised eyebrow. “Well, nobody could ever say Potters do anything by half-measures.” The man chuckled, winking playfully at Harry. Harry grinned in response. “Shall we feed your friend let her be on her way?”

“She is my familiar, I doubt she’ll be leaving my side any time soon.” Harry replied, scratching the bird under her chin. Clara closed her eyes at the sensation and lifted her wings a little.

“You are bound to a _Phoenix_? You really _are_ a Potter, it seems.” Brandon chuckled. Sirius and Remus snickering behind him.

“Do we have anywhere she could rest?” Harry asked, hearing the quiet murmurs of those around the courtyard.

“There is the upper-most floor of the Owlery. She could comfortably have the entire floor to herself – the owls prefer to avoid that level.”

“Good, she can have that then. Off you go, girl.” Harry agreed, smiling at the bird as she leapt into the air and went in the direction of one of the taller, rounded towers.

“Come, I’ll show you to the family wing and we’ll get you settled in.” Brandon smiled, gesturing for them to follow. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Felix meander over to one of the nearby guards, no doubt arranging his own lodgings. The man looked over at Harry once he felt his gaze and nodded respectfully in his direction. Harry returned the nod and turned to follow Brandon.

The interior of the castle was made of dark stone, an odd contrast to the lighter stone that made up the exterior walls. The shape of the many stones that made up the corridors were left in their natural shape, rather than the neat bricks that had formed the interior of the Citadel.

A marble tiled floor caused the sound of their footsteps to echo along its length, while the dark mahogany ceiling made the ceiling look almost pitch black. Evenly spaced throughout the many corridors were scones of howling wolves that held a silver-white ball of light, illuminating the many corners.

“Don’t worry My Lord, you’ll soon know this place as if you’d been running about the place as your father had wished you to.” Brandon said over his shoulder, having noticed Harry’s curious gaze.

“You knew James?” Sirius asked casually, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

“Aye, I knew him. Not as well as our fathers wished, of course. Charlus Potter and my own father, Rickard, were good friends.”

“Did my father come here often?” Harry asked, peering out of a window as they passed. Below were a series of magnificent gardens with a large oak tree in the middle. From this height in one of the upper floors of the main keep, he realised the garden was laid out in a large heptagram with the tree in the centre.

“He came more as a boy than as a man. He was to rule here in his father’s name until he claimed the lordship as many heirs do. Unfortunately, Lord Charlus was killed and your father never returned.” Brandon shrugged. “There were rumours that James married a young witch and had a son, but they weren’t confirmed until your arrival.” Brandon smiled back at Harry. “We’ve often wondered if someone would come to claim the Potter lands. We are all loyal to the family and would have fought fiercely to defend your lands from any vultures.”

Harry balked at that. These people didn’t even know him, and they were willing to fight to protect his land and his name. Memories from earlier in the day threatened to claw their way back to the front of his mind.

“Thank you, Brandon – but truly, I don’t want anyone to fight and die for me. I would see you all reach old age peacefully.” He replied shakily. He felt Remus grip his shoulder comfortingly.

“Aye, you’re a Potter alright.” Brandon chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at Harry. “The Potters have earned the loyalty of your subjects many times over throughout the years. You seem to have a knack for putting others before yourselves, My Lord.” Brandon winked. Sirius snorted behind him.

“I’ll try to live up to my family’s reputation.” Harry smiled in return as they came to a stop before a pair of large oak doors that must have been two metres tall and almost four across.

Brandon gestured to the doors before he heaved them open. Inside, their saddlebags had been placed on a large central table in three separate piles. “The Elves will have brought these up but thought it best to leave their storage to you, what with not knowing which rooms you would prefer.”

Harry stepped into the room, and instantly noticed the pale blue colour scheme with grey trimmings. The family banner hung proudly on the far wall from the door. To his right was a large fireplace and a number of seating areas with half a dozen nearby bookshelves. To his left were a number of doors that no doubt led to various sleeping quarters.

It was with an odd sort of realisation that he noticed that he felt _at home_ for the first time since they had left Blackwall. Something deep inside him felt at peace for the first time in his life. The feeling burst into existence in his chest and spread steadily through his extremities and into his mind with a pleasant buzz. He let out a contented sigh.

“It’s been a long time since I saw the Family Magic at work.” Brandon smiled. Remus and Sirius turned to look at Harry.

“You’re looking better, pup.” Remus smiled.

“I feel… I don’t know how I feel, but it’s good.”

“The castle has been home to the Potters since before this world was formed. Potter blood and magic has seeped into the castle for generation after generation – it will protect you and yours until the last.” Brandon explained from his position by the door. Harry frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“If the castle is besieged, there are passageways that only someone of the blood can open. The wards will defend the castle until they fall, and if anyone were to garrison the keep without your permission, they would find the castle itself rebelling against them. The odd step missing here or there on the stairs, shelves or roof tiles dropping on unsuspecting guards, that sort of thing.”

“Not even Blackstone Castle would react like that.” Sirius gasped, with his eyes wide. At Harry’s confused frown, he added. “The Black’s family seat. Where we arrived.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, My Lords. If you require anything at all, just let me know. I’ll assign a pair of guards to the hallway outside.” Brandon smiled, bowing as he backed out of the room. “Oh, and Lord Potter? Welcome home.”

* * *

They remained at Arpton for a week, and Harry found himself falling in love with the garden he had found with the large oak tree. The oak was oddly shaped, with a strange arch in its trunk tall enough for a grown man to walk through easily. A small pond surrounded the tree, with a single two-metre-long arched bridge allowing access. It hadn’t taken long for Harry to find peace with his back resting against the trunk and the sounds of the castle echoing in the quiet.

He could find himself enjoying this spot well into his old age. He wondered what he would look like, as his future wife would come out to find him with his children as he sat there and polished whatever weapon he would choose to wield. Would he sharpen a sword? Polish a wand? Oil the blade of his staff or clean its crystal ball?

He could see them now – a small army of children running along the path towards him. He would stop in his work and sweep them into his arms, spinning them around before kissing his wife. He smiled at the scene behind his eyelids.

A gentle breeze tickled its way across his upper lip, and he found his lips twitching at the sensation briefly. He sighed, opening his eyes as the image disappeared. He winced as he opened his eyes and sat up off of the large root he’d been leaning on. The sky above him was clear and a trio of birds flew by overhead. He heard Clara’s cawing before he saw her. He grinned as he watched the large bird swoop lazily between the towers of his family home as she flew toward him.

Moments later, she came to an easy landing on the carpet of dried leaves beneath the oak and nipped at his boots playfully. “Knock it off, you oversized chicken.” He chuckled, reaching into a pouch on his belt before tossing a handful of hard bacon towards her. He watched as she snatched the meat up from the floor and tossed it down her gullet.

He had read somewhere that Phoenix’s were herbivores, but Clara seemed just as happy consuming meat as she was consuming plant-matter. Perhaps it was a difference in environment, or maybe nobody had witnessed a Phoenix consume meat in the wild. It did seem odd that they had evolved to have such sharp beaks if they were just going to eat berries and seeds.

Clara hopped towards him before she nuzzled into his chest. He grinned as he slowly stroked her neck. He knew why she had sought him out – it was almost time for him to return to the matters of the castle.

Magical families were incredibly private in many aspects, so it wasn’t unexpected for them to know so little about many topics. To that extent, for the most private of family secrets, it was often in the Goblins and their banks that families turned to, storing their secrets and prized possessions deep within their vaults.

Even as a sort of adopted son of House Black, Harry knew nothing of their personal traditions, plans or secrets. There were simply some lines that were not crossed – not unless he renounced the Potter name and took the Black one, though despite often considering it over the years, he knew it to be impossible.

While his childhood had been filled with family and lots of laughter – thanks to Sirius and Remus – he had also been raised by Arcturus Black. He had been educated in his duties and what was expected of him, he knew that it was up to _him_ to carry on the magical lineage of the House of Potter. There were no cousins, or aunts and uncles to pass the duty to – just him. Every other line of House Potter had been murdered by Voldemort and his Death Eaters in an effort to draw his parents out of hiding in the last war.

No doubt, when he came of age in seven years, it would be a birthday to remember. The House of Potter was rich in land and wealth both in Britain and here, and there would be many families that would want access to some of that wealth. While the prospect of a wife and children was exciting to him – to a degree, he was in no personal rush and wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with any betrothal offers. That wasn’t even considering those who thought of him only as The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Perhaps, he would one day follow in his father’s footsteps and find a Muggle-born he could fall in love with. He couldn’t help the snort that escaped him at the thought of Trevelyan hearing that bit of news.

In any event, they would be leaving for Wales in a day or two for Rosestone – Arpton had its own _Ro’rim_ chamber and they would travel directly there. He had plans for the coming months. While he would claim the castle and lands in Wales, he knew they were returning to Blackwall shortly after. Once there, he would ask Arcturus and Sirius to arrange a number of lessons – specifically, sparring with a blade and horse-riding.

The horse-riding was a given. When he had to return here, and eventually he _would_ return here, he would have to ride a horse again, and there wasn’t a chance he was going to suffer it ill-prepared like he had.

The blade training was a more recent decision, if he were honest with himself. He had been exploring two days previous when he had found a room in the heart of the castle with a set of Mithril plate, of the like he had never seen before, and an elegant sword of the same metal.

It had taken him exactly thirty minutes to drag both Sirius and Remus into the room, where they too marvelled at the craftsmanship. Sirius had guessed that the armour pre-dated the creation of the realm, but by how much he couldn’t say – only that he had never seen the design before, while the sword was identified to be a bastard sword. The blade had taken his breath away, with its milky-white surface that caught the light, wolfs-head crossguard, brown dragonhide leather grip and spiked pommel.

The blade had captured his imagination immediately. How many times had it been used in battle? Did it have a name? All the best swords had names – his favourite was _Excalibur_ , the sword of _Arthur Pendragon,_ _King of Kings_. He had fallen asleep each night since, dreaming of wielding the blade against fearsome dragons terrorising towns, and rescuing the damsels.

Harry grinned as Clara nudged his chin with her beak. Clara had been wonderful in their time here – she had appeared in his darkest moments, as he woke yelling and screaming in the night with his magic lashing out wildly as memories of the attack on the road tormented him. He would wake, covered in sweat, and his room half destroyed by his magical maelstrom in his terror – not even Sirius had been safe of it.

The first night they had stayed at the keep, Sirius had ran into Harry’s room in an attempt to calm him. With his magic lashing out erratically, Sirius had been caught unaware and thrown from the room. It hadn’t been until his familiar had arrived in a burst of magical flames that he had been able to regain some control. He had often found his room half destroyed in the mornings regardless. Thankfully, the House Elves and his immediate companions knew enough magic to repair any broken furniture.

His nights had been better since then, though the nightmares remained – at the very least, if Sirius or Remus attempted to console him, they weren’t hit with any magic. Both Sirius and Remus, who were each veterans of Voldemort’s _Blood War_ , had assured him that the dreams would fade in time, though if they got any worse he was to let them know immediately and they’d arrange for a Mind Healer.

He sighed and leaned his head against the trunk of the tree behind him. Hopefully they would fade from his mind. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and dusted the leaves from his clothes. No doubt they would be expecting him in the Great Hall any time now.

All day he had been greeting his various vassals who had been trickling in since news of his arrival had gone out. Some were little older than children, and others were old men who had barely contained their sneers of derision at being answerable to a child. Sirius’s presence behind him and clearly dissuaded anyone from speaking on such thoughts in his presence.

He gave Clara one last affectionate pat before beginning his journey through the gardens. He passed the clumps of lavender, magnolias, roses and various other flowers that were in full bloom and inhaled their sweet scenes deeply. At some point, when he next returned, he would make sure a portion of the garden was given to a number of lilies. It would be his own way of honouring his mother.

As he entered the castle, he turned right towards the Great Hall, remembering that turning left led down towards the crypts. He had discovered that the previous day in a moment of forgetfulness. It had been a moment of indecision in which corridor led to the castle-proper and had led to him discovering some of the dusty stone tombs and effigies of his ancestors. The closest relation he had discovered had in fact been his Great-Grandfather, Eddison ‘Edd’ Potter who had died – according to his inscription – of natural causes at the ripe-old-age of 143. He had been succeeded by Charlus James Potter, his only son and Harry’s Grandfather.

He had spent a number of hours walking among his ancestors in the well-lit cavernous chambers, feeling their stone gazes following his movements silently. It had felt like an experience which had really settled the weight of his family’s history on his shoulders. He had heard accounts of how old his family was, and how far back his lineage ran, but to be able to actually _see_ it had been something else.

He nodded politely as he passed the staff in the halls, each of them curtsying or bowing politely. That was something that he hadn’t gotten used to in the slightest since the whole trip had begun. It had thrown him initially in the Capitol, having been expected to be called _Lord_ or _My Lord_ or some such variation – but he hadn’t counted on the bowing in the slightest. It felt so strange for an adult to defer to him in such a manner. On his next visit, he’d make it an unofficial rule not to bow or curtsy among the staff.

He sighed as he finally arrived at his destination – a side door to the Great Hall that he was to enter through. He had performed the Fealty Ritual with the occupants of Arpton keep the first morning after his arrival with the help of Sirius and Brandon – now it was time to repeat the process with his vassal lords.

He nodded at the two guards that stood on either side of the door, their staves that were entirely different from one another and any other design he had seen thus far held proudly at attention by their sides. One of the two guards nodded – a woman with copper hair that spilled out from under her hood, he noted – smiled slightly at him and opened the door.

He was hit with a wave of noise – evidently there was some form of silencing charm or rune-work that was at work most of the time. He tried not to wince as his head started to throb with the early signs of a migraine.

He stepped into the room, the noise of the door closing behind him had an immediate silencing effect on the room at large. Easily over two dozen pairs of eyes stared at him as he slowly made his way to the throne upon the raised dais. It was vastly different to the Black’s throne he’d seen Arcturus sit. This one was simple in its design – an elegant Mithril frame with prowling wolves for armrests with rich light-blue velvet cushions. The banner of his house hung proudly from the rafters behind the chair on either side. It was subtle but the whole thing exuded an air of subtle power that even at his young age he had to appreciate.

He sat the throne quietly and closed his eyes and reached out with his magic like Sirius and Brandon had instructed him to do so. It took a moment, but he recognised the familiar presence of the castle easily enough.

His eyes snapped open as his body _thrummed_ with his family magic – it was as if he could feel a little of every Potter before him. His eyes swept the room with a pale blue tint to his vision. He saw Sirius and Remus proudly standing at the far side of the hall with smiles on their faces. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t force even the slightest twitch of his mouth.

The lords in the room were quiet, their collective gaze focused entirely on him.

“Anyone that desires to renew their fealty to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter may do so now. Bend the knee and say the words and be protected by my wand and magic. Let anyone who would break fealty sworn today or betray the trust of my house be cursed as an oath-breaker.” He called calmly, his voice deep and radiating the power he felt darting through every limb he had. His own magic was practically singing in response.

As one, every single lord and heir in the room dropped to a knee with their heads bowed.

“Do you all swear to come to the aid of House Potter when called upon? Do you swear to add your magic to ours in times of strife and hardship? From this day, until the end of days?”

“We so swear, from this day, until the end of days.” The hall chorused, their voices echoing throughout the room. The rush of magic at the end of their words caught him entirely unprepared. This was so much more than what he had seen Arcturus go through, and by extension his own experience of claiming his seat just days before.

He felt not just the magic from the men before him, but the magic of those sworn to _them_. It was a heady feeling, and one he was sure to make him feel utterly spent once the ritual was over. At the very least, he would have a decent sleep – though he’d be impressed if he made it out of the hall conscious.

“I thank you all for your loyalty and fealty. You may rise.”

The room rose as one, each man regardless of age looking a little healthier and younger. He hadn’t realised his family magic would affect them so visibly – he suddenly felt a terrible sense of regret for not coming sooner.

“My Lord Potter.” Sirius called as he approached the front of the crowd, Remus at his side proudly. He gazed upon them from his seat. Please, Merlin don’t let Sirius prank him now.

If he could have gasped, he would have. He watched as both Sirius and Remus took a knee with their heads bowed low. “Lord Potter, I come before you as both the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and also as a proud father.” Sirius paused; his voice shaky in the silent room. “I would pledge the loyalty of my house and our own vassals to yours. We would shield your back, keep your counsel and give our lives for yours if need be. We swear this by all the Gods of magic.”

His mouth responded with the words he didn’t know, “And I vow you shall have my wand and my magic in times of strife. I pledge to ask no service of your house that may bring you shame nor dishonour. I swear this by all the Gods of magic. Arise.”

He watched as Sirius stood shakily as their respective magic was exchanged. It was an even more potent experience than before. He noticed that his limbs were visibly trembling in the chair – what that meant for him, he knew not.

“My Lord.” Another voice called. This time it was Felix – the guard they had travelled from the Capitol with. He hadn’t noticed him in the mass of bodies. He took a knee where Sirius and Remus had been only moments before. “You know me as Felix of House Cale. I am a fifth-born son and a proud warrior. I would pledge myself to your household. I would guard you and yours with my life and my magic. You saved my life, Lord Potter – allow me the chance to do right by you.”

Harry recited the same oath he had given Sirius and barely managed to control the closing of the ritual as no others came forward. It seemed there was a reason that this was usually held when a wizard came of age – he was barely hanging on by a thread.

He sagged in the chair as the magic left him and watched with closing eyes as Sirius began climbing the few steps toward the chair with a proud smile.

“Sleep, pup. I’m so very proud of you. So very proud.”


	9. Hermione I

Today was officially _the day_. For months, countless books and accounts had been consumed in an effort to prepare for today’s trip. Her parents were sitting in the front of the 3-series E36 BMW her father had bought the previous year. It was a delightful sky blue that was as close to periwinkle that she had ever seen on a car.

In front of her, her parents joked back and forth as they always did. She smiled to herself as she listened to her mother laugh at one of her father’s terribly cheesy jokes. She couldn’t even concentrate on any of the books she had brought for the trip!

As she was stuck with nothing to do other than gaze out of the window, she imagined what it would be like in a few months. Would she be flying a broomstick with a pointy hat? She wrinkled her nose at the thought – her feet would remain firmly on the ground if she had anything to say about it. If human beings were supposed to fly, they would have evolved to have wings.

Perhaps she would have a familiar? The most common, according to the literature she had devoured ever since her letter had arrived, claimed that a cat would be the most likely candidate. She hoped it wasn’t a toad, or worse a _rat_. There was something decidedly underwhelming at the thought of having a pet rat.

Of course, they were adorable pets and she loved their little whiskers and tiny hands, but they hardly seemed _magical_.

She allowed her gaze to continue sweeping the various buildings of London as they passed by. London was such a fascinating city, and far busier than her own home-city of Reading. London was a city that had been home to Kings and _Queens_! She had read everything on the city she could, of course. When she had been told by that delightful professor that there was a wizarding district in _London_ of all places, she absolutely had to learn everything she could.

Yes, Hermione Jean Granger was positively _thrilled_ to be making this trip into London. It was a delightful Saturday, with just the faintest breeze to keep it from being stifling and it also happened to be the day she would _finally_ be able to purchase her school supplies before she left for Hogwarts in September. She was practically _giddy_.

The slowing down of the car, and the unmistakable sensation of her father pulling into a road-side parking space had Hermione unbuckling her seatbelt in record time.

“Hermione, you stay right there until the engine is off, young lady.” Her mother, the successful Dr Jean Granger ordered, her brown eyes trained on Hermione through the rear-view mirror. Her father, the equally well-known Dr John Granger, snickered from the driver’s seat.

She pouted a little and began to chew on her bottom lip absently. Honestly, this whole parking-business was taking _far_ too long. With a quiet click, and a rattle of keys, the engine cut off and she lunged for the door.

Opening it slowly and checking both ways for any traffic, she stepped out and smoothed down her summer-dress before carefully closing the door – careful not to close it too hard. Her father practically worshiped the machine. It was a side of him that she would never understand.

She skipped around the car, the soles of her shoes scuffing the tarmac with each step. She grinned as she stood expectantly before the passenger door as her mother stepped out. Her mother rolled her eyes, closed the door, and promptly began fixing Hermione’s cardigan. Hermione rolled her own eyes as her mother began her worrying.

“Now, you remember to stay close to us while we’re in there. This will be new to all of us, and I won’t have you running off because you get excited. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mum.” She replied automatically, already eyeing the gently swaying sign to the pub they had been told to look for.

“Don’t make me put you on my shoulders.” Her father threatened, his grinning expression betraying the joy he’d feel at being able to do just that.

“I’ll behave.” She replied in a small pout before grasping her parent’s hands and dragging them towards the pub.

They followed with little difficulty and she soon found herself walking between the two of them. She had been so excited for this day for so long. For years she had retreated into books and stories for a way to escape a world that felt so _mundane_. She excelled in school and devoured the books she checked out from the library, but for all of that, there had been something missing. Some part of her that wasn’t satisfied that the world around her didn’t match up to the world she read and dreamed about her entire life.

Where were the adventures of brave knights? Of gallant nobles? Where were the likes of the characters that Jane Austen had written about? They were all absent, instead having been replaced by cruel children who mocked her for her bookishness, her wild curly hair and her teeth that were a little too large.

No, where she was going was for _special_ children, who were no doubt just like her. It made perfect sense, after all. When she arrived at Hogwarts, she would be surrounded by fledgling witches and wizards all eager to learn and explore the mysteries of their magic. It was as if all her dreams were coming true.

Her father opened the front door and ushered the two of them inside. The room was like nothing she had expected. It was dark and grimy looking, with a single candle on each table and a large fireplace tall enough for a grown man to step into on the far wall.

That gave her pause for a second. The interior of the building was far too large for the dingy little pub-front they had just walked into. Was this one of the applications of magic? Could magic make things bigger on the inside? Oh, the _possibilities_!

All the eyes of the pub were on them now. Many were in odd clothes – large red leather coats that appeared padded with something or another, tunics that looked like they were lifted straight from a museum, and one elderly man was even sat in a corner in a set of full steel armour! In comparison, the Grangers must have looked delightfully odd to their eyes. Hermione had her periwinkle blue summer dress and a white cardigan over the top, while her father stood in denim jeans and a casual shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and her mother was in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Ah, can I ‘elp ye?” An old man asked from behind the bar. He appeared to be positively ancient, but he held himself as if he were decades younger. Hermione noticed he was wiping a mug with a cloth.

“Just looking for some school supplies, if you wouldn’t mind pointing us in the right direction?” Her father asked, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and giving it a casual squeeze.

“O’course, o’course! If you’ll just follow me, I’ll show ye the way.” He replied in a friendly manner, grinning – at least that’s what Hermione _assumed_ he was doing. He gestured for the trio to follow him as he weaved his way around the bar and stepped over a sleeping cat the size of which she had never seen before. It must easily have been twice the size of a Maine Coon! It lifted its head up and lazily blinked its yellow eyes at her before laying down once more.

“Ah, don’ mind ‘im, little lady. Ol’ Rupert is my pet Kneazle. Excellent judge o’ character, he is. The name’s Tom. I run this fine ‘stablishment.”

“Lovely to meet you, Tom.” Her mother replied. A quick glance at the older woman revealed that she too was eyeing the feline with no small amount of fascination. “No, Hermione, we’re not getting one.”

She frowned slightly at that. “I didn’t say anything!” She protested.

“No, but you were definitely thinking it.” Her father chuckled as they stepped out into a tiny courtyard barely large enough to hold all four of them. Where was Diagon Alley?

Tom chuckled to himself as he withdrew a large stick from his pocket. Hermione’s eyes darted to it instantly, watching every motion and brick that was tapped. As the barkeep began putting the wand away, the bricks began moving themselves away from a central point, rolling over one another in an organised chaos. When it was all done, they stood beneath a tasteful brick archway and Hermione gasped.

Spread before them was the busiest shopping district she had ever seen. Men, women and children moved around one another effortlessly in the great throng of people. From at the top of the alley, the sheer mass of humanity appeared little more than waves of colour.

Along either side of the wide street were brightly coloured storefronts. Some had large signs, such as _Flourish and Blotts_ , _Magical Menagerie_ , and _Potage’s Cauldron Shop_ – this one had a large cauldron above its front door that would occasionally shoot silver sparks out of it. It was all just so _magical_!

She grinned and looked at her parents, who seemed equally in awe of the street. Tom had disappeared while they had been staring at the new world before them. “Do you have the list?”

“The list?” Her father asked, confusion on his face as he snapped out of whatever thoughts had been running through his head.

Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes as she hooked her arm around Hermione’s shoulders and began walking into the district proper. It was when they were a few steps into the ‘alley’, if it could even be called such a thing, that she noticed there weren’t really any people wearing _regular_ clothes like her own.

Were there not many witches and wizards like her, who came from families with no history of magic? She began nibbling her bottom lip as a few eyes were cast in their direction.

“The list of school supplies, John. Honestly, I don’t know how you’d remember to comb your hair if it weren’t for my lists.” Her mother replied, causing her father to frown and self-consciously run his fingers through his thick, dark hair – though Hermione had wisely kept quiet about the occasional grey hair at his temples that had been appearing lately.

“That’s why I married you, dear.” He replied with a cheeky grin. A quick glance between Hermione and her mother, and both were rolling their eyes with smiles of their own.

“Now, what shall we get first? Your wand, uniform or your school supplies?”

“Books are going to be last, young lady.” Her father interrupted as her mouth began forming the words.

She huffed and blew a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I think we should go to the bank first and exchange the currency.” Hermione replied after a moment. “After that, I’d like to get my wand, if that’s okay?” She asked shyly.

Both her parents nodded, and began moving towards the large white building at the far end of the district that had the words _Gringotts Goblin Bank_ in gold above the entrance. In the late-morning sun, the words glowed with an otherworldly beauty that helped light the street up.

“Goblins, huh? Wonder what they look like.” Her father mused as they approached the building. It was oddly shaped, in that it appeared triangular at the front and the supporting pillars that supported the entryway were slightly skewed. A pair of short, menacing looking guards eyed them on either side of the large glass doors as they held their halberds at attention. Were the guards Goblins too?

Hermione opened the door for both her parents, and all three almost missed a step as they took in the large room they had stepped into.

It was a large room, with huge mahogany benches lining the sides. All along the walls were large gold-marble pillars with a ‘cracked’ patterning which matched the walls perfectly. The floor was a white marble with dark accents, and above it all hung the largest and most gorgeous chandelier she had ever seen. It was then that she noticed the beings sitting behind those mahogany benches, scribbling away as men and women spoke to them.

“Well then, shall we find a queue and join it?”

She nodded at her fathers’ question and joined the end of the nearest queue. While they stood there waiting patiently, every now and then taking a step forward, she allowed her eyes to properly inspect the people she would be surrounding herself with in the coming years.

There were all sorts, as to be expected of any society, she mused. There were the aristocratic types, brought scenes from _Pride & Prejudice_ to her mind and even more ideas of nobility. Looking even further around the bank’s lobby, she noted the plain, unassuming cloaks and tunics, and everything in between.

She watched one group stride up to a large gold-trimmed desk with an elderly looking Goblin. They spoke in hushed tones before they were ushered through a door behind the desk by another Goblin.

The Goblins themselves were fascinating creatures. They were short beings, if their size in comparison to the desks they were sat at were anything to go by, with domed heads, pale complexions, and long fingers. Their pointed ears reminded her of many fictional depictions of Elves, though much larger by far.

A gentle tap on the top of her head drew her attention to her father. “We’re about to be seen. Just giving you a heads up.”

She smiled in response, feeling the tension in her forehead lessen. She knew she had a habit of frowning when she was deep in thought, and it would do absolutely no good to have been lost in thought when it was their turn to be seen.

“Next!”

They stepped forward as one. All three peered up at the creature above them, who was busy scribbling something with a delightfully beautiful quill.

“Hello, we’d like to exchange some currency?” Her mother asked pleasantly. The Goblin paused in its task before peering down at them.

“And how much would you be interested in exchanging today?” Hermione noticed for the first time that Goblin’s teeth were extremely sharp, especially when they grinned.

“One-thousand pounds.” Her father replied, shrugging at Hermione’s shocked expression. “We have no idea how much your supplies cost.” He added in response to her unspoken question.

“Very well. That will be two-hundred Galleons, thirteen Sickles and eighteen Knuts. Take this writ to a teller on the far side of the room and you shall make the transfer there.”

“Thank you.” Her mother replied as her father nodded and accepted the parchment. They moved off as the Goblin called for the next in the line.

A few minutes later, they had exchanged the money and were making their way out into the alley when she saw the shop in the distance. _Ollivanders – Wandmakers since 382 B.C_.

“Can we get my wand now?” Hermione asked, practically bouncing up and down on the spot.

Her parents chuckled and nodded their heads. Immediately, she grabbed their hands and began marching them towards the shop with the red façade and large glass window.

They were barely ten metres from it when a man burst through the glass, accompanied by a brilliant golden flash. There were startled yells and screams all around the street as the man landed in a crumpled heap.

He was still for just a moment before he began pulling himself to his feet and dusting off the shards that had landed on his clothes. He seemed to be grumbling to himself, but the hands of Hermione’s parents stopped her from getting any closer.

“I’m alright, I’m alright!” He called out at those around him. The glow from the inside of the store had disappeared now, and in the window stood three children and two adults, both of whom were laughing loudly while the children just stared with wide eyes. “Go about your business, nothing to see here, damn it.” The man called once more to the lingering masses before re-entering the store.

Where the wand had appeared from, she had no idea, but with a few simple gestures, the glass was picking itself back up and clicking itself back together in moments. By the time the strange man with curly black hair was done, the storefront looked as good as new.

“Was that magic?” Hermione’s mother asked after a moment of them standing there.

Hermione nodded. What else could it have been? She _had_ to learn that spell.

“I bloody love magic.” Her father murmured, before wincing as both mother and daughter told him to mind his language. Suitably chastised, he cleared his throat before saying, “Well, shall we get you your own wand then?”

They entered the store to see that same man, along with those she had seen through the window. The adults were still snickering while two of the children were gaping openly at the third.

The adults all looked different, though all three had the same emblem on their clothing. Clothing, which she realised after a moment was _armour_. She didn’t know much about armour, but from the little she _did_ know, they were wearing leather gambesons with a steel gorget – even the _children_ were wearing armour, though theirs had a different design to the adults.

The adults had a silver serpent, while the brown haired, brown-eyed boy with chubby cheeks had a roaring bear, and the dark-haired blue-eyed girl next to him had a charging stallion. The third boy, who was still the subject of the other two children’s stares had emerald eyes, black hair that hung to his shoulders and a prowling wolf stamped into the metal around his neck.

“I still can’t believe you threw Sirius out of the window, Harry!” The chubby-cheeked boy gasped, jumping a little as the bell above the door announced their entrance. The girl in the group swept her eyes over her family quickly.

“It seems we have company.” She said after a moment, her tone neutral. Both boys offered her a small smile.

Before she could say anything, an older gentleman ran back into the store with a wand held delicately in his hand. “Here we are, one Blackthorn wand with a Vinewood handle and a Phoenix tail feather core – very rigid in its flexibility. It was an honour to craft it, young man. I shall watch your career with great interest.”

Hermione watched as the man with wild white hair, and thick bushy eyebrows reverently placed the wand in the green-eyed boy’s hand. The second his fingers closed around it, she noticed everyone scramble away from the window before the room _trembled_ with power. A wild wind began whipping at her hair, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as boxes were strewn about and papers were carried about. In the corner, a glass vial shattered with a small pop.

The boy was grinning as he tucked it away into his belt, the dark wood blending into the colour of his armour, while the handle’s lighter colour stood out like a sore thumb.

Once the wand was sufficiently secured, the children were ushered towards the door. Hermione and her parents shuffled out of the way as best they could in the tight confines of the room, what with the shelves upon shelves that lined the walls, all with small boxes stacked haphazardly.

“A pleasure as always, Lord Black.” The proprietor called, causing the eldest of the three adults to turn and nod in response. _Lord_? Were some of the peerage of Britain wizards? She didn’t recognise the name.

As the group left the shop, with a little jingle of the bell above the door, the older man’s eyes snapped to Hermione. “Ah, I see another young witch has come to claim her wand, yes?”

She nodded as an excited grin split her face. Her father chuckled behind her.

“Well then, we had best get started, hadn’t we?” Hermione watched him as the eccentric man turned in a swirl of his burgundy coat and darted over to a nearby shelf before he carefully removed a box. When he returned, the box was open and he offered the small shaft of wood to her.

Her fingers curled around the wood delicately as she lifted it. After a quick examination of its mid-brown colouring, she held it and looked at it expectantly.

“Go on then, give it a wave, dear!”

Hermione blinked and did as she was told, wincing as a number of boxes flew from their shelves.

“No, no, that won’t do at all!” The man exclaimed, taking out his own wand before casting some sort of spell to tidy the store. He darted off after a moment, before returning with a handful of new boxes.

One after the other, she tried them all out, giving the slightest flick only for some cataclysm to befall the store. Was she not supposed to have a wand?

“I believe that I have the perfect wand for you, my dear.” The shopkeeper mused after a moment of quiet contemplation. She watched as he revealed one more box, this one a faded yellow as if it had been there for some time. “A fine Vinewood shaft, with a Dragon Heartstring core. An unusual combination, but one more suited for yourself, I would think.”

She grasped the wand carefully, noting the similar colour to the boy’s handle when he had stashed it in his belt. Was it the same type of wood? The wand in her hand was far simpler in its design, being a straight tapered shaft, though the elegant vines that spiralled from the base to tip were beautiful in their design. Her fingers gently traced the patterning.

“Give it a wave, dear.” Her mother said, her voice encouraging.

Chewing on her bottom lip absently, she gave it a firm flick and couldn’t help the excited grin on her face as that same invisible wind swept the store. Her thick, wild hair blew about and the candle flames that illuminated the store grew in brightness. The shopkeeper looked on, an unreadable expression on his face as the magic died down.

“Curious. Most curious.”

“Curious?” Her father asked as she continued to look upon her wand. She couldn’t _wait_ to begin her schooling. If she had been excited before, it paled in comparison to the feeling of longing she had now.

“Indeed. It is most rare for a witch or wizard to have an experience like that upon meeting with their wand. As it happens, it has now happened twice in my shop today. We live in exciting times, it seems.” The man shrugged, though a slight smile was on his face.

Another flick of his wand, and anything that had been left out from her experimenting with the various wands was neatly tidied away. Once done, the man hurried back behind his large desk and began scribbling on some parchment with his quill. “That will be seven Galleons.” He said after a moment, looking up from his parchment and smiling.

Her father quickly withdrew the coins and passed them over the counter. She could barely stand still; she was so excited! Surely they would see that it would be best if she could go and get some books on spells _now_ rather than later!

She looked up at her father, the question just on the tip of her tongue.

“Don’t even think about it, little lady. If you step foot in a bookshop now, we won’t have any money to get the rest of your supplies.”

She pouted a little, causing her father to chuckle as he led them out of the store.

“We’ll get your uniform next, and then we’ll see to your class essentials, and _then_ get your books. Maybe some mint-chocolate ice cream on the way home if you’re lucky.” Her mother said, her voice playful as she winked down at Hermione.

“Pretty sure the letter said Madam Malkins would be the place to go for that.” Her father added, as they meandered along the street.

“Oh, so you _do_ remember things occasionally.” Her mother quipped, while Hermione rolled her eyes at the playful back and forth of her parents.

“I’m honestly hurt that you would think me so forgetful, dear.”

Her mother made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat and shot her father a pointed look, to which he just grinned cheekily back. They had bantered this way all her life, and despite her exasperated outward attitude towards it, Hermione loved to see her parents laugh and smile with each other. She considered herself very lucky that her parents loved one another so deeply – she knew it wasn’t the case for every child.

Whether it was by luck, or by magic, they stumbled upon the storefront that had Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions proudly painted above the door. In the large window were a number of outfits of all occasions – casual wear, formal and school wear – though there were apparently two different types of the school uniforms from what she could see.

On the far right were the clothes she could see being worn in nearly every other school in the country – both boy and girl’s uniform stood next to one another. Did the store cater to more than one school? It had to.

They entered the store quickly, hearing the familiar jingle of the bell above her head. A woman’s voice called out from the back, hidden among the many racks of clothes and partitions.

“Janet, dear can you get that? I have my hands full right now!”

“Yes, Madam.” A second voice called. A moment later, a young woman stepped into view, a yellow tape measure hanging from her neck. She was a friendly looking woman with large square glasses and her blonde hair tied back loosely in a simple ponytail. She smiled at the three of them.

“Welcome to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. How can I help you today?” She asked, her hands clasped casually in front of her.

“Hogwarts school uniform, please.” Her mother smiled in return, gently stroking Hermione’s hair. Her mother had an unusual fascination with Hermione’s thick, curly hair – she’d claimed it had reminded her of her own hair as a girl, until she had grown into the graceful curls that Hermione _wished_ she had. As far as she was concerned, Hermione was all too happy to make the trade.

“Ah, of course. Your first year, I presume?” Janet asked, gesturing for the three to follow.

“Yes, I’m ever so excited.” Hermione replied with a smile.

“I should hope so – magic is such a wonderful thing. Now, I assume you are a Muggle-born, correct?”

Hermione nodded. Professor McGonagall had told them what Muggles were when she had come to visit almost a year ago.

“Excellent, now if you would like to step over here, I can show you our uniforms.”

As they followed Janet, Hermione caught a glimpse of the uniforms that looked positively normal for almost every other school in the country. There were racks upon racks of them, all hung based on size. There were trousers, girls pleated skirts, sleeveless and long-sleeved jumpers, cardigans, white shirts and blouses, ties, scarves and even winter hats. On the far end, she spotted what looked like large black cloaks with long sleeves.

“We’ll get you measured quickly and then get you a little of everything for your school year, hm?” Janet asked as she pulled the tape measure from around her neck and directed Hermione to a small stool. “Now, I need you to stand straight for me and lift your arms out, there we go.”

Hermione complied silently with the woman as she went about her work. The measurements were done in short order and before long, she was passed half a dozen shirts, skirts, trousers and a little of everything else. In the end, the pile of clothes in her arms were almost too high to see over.

“Now, Hogwarts has a house-system. When you arrive there, you’ll be sorted into one of the four. Each house has its own colours, but don’t you worry about that. The clothes are charmed to adjust accordingly based on where you end up.” Janet smiled at her from around the pile. Hermione nodded and blew a cardigan sleeve from her face.

“Is this everything she’ll need?” Her mother asked, while her father snorted somewhere in the background.

“Besides shoes and underwear, yes.”

“Excellent, we can sort that lot out easily enough.”

“Very well, are you ready to pay?” Janet smiled once more, finally taking the mountain of clothes from her arms. Her parents nodded, and her father playfully tapped her on the nose as he passed.

While her parents were busy at the counter, Hermione found herself being pulled towards the displays of the other set of uniform’s she had seen in the window.

It was a decidedly odd uniform, though a part of her appreciated that there seemed to be no gender difference in its design.

It seemed to be made of a fine quality tunic, with long sleeves that seemed rather form-fitting, and a pair of dark trousers that again, seemed to be far more form-fitting than she would have expected. The large, knee-high leather boots had a number of silver clasps running down the sides. Over it all was a large sleeveless black leather coat with a flared collar that folded over itself, while the bottom of the coat came down just past the knees with some strips of fabric hanging from the inside. What school did this belong to?

“Hermione! Time to go!” Her mother called from the door. She smiled at the older woman and darted over to her.

“Where’s Dad?” She asked, looking about for her father.

“Oh, he went to take the bags back to the car. Far too many for us to carry around, what with everything else we need to get.” Her mother replied with a grin. It was an unspoken rule between her parents that her father would be saddled with all the shopping bags.

“Are we meeting him here?”

“No dear, we’ll meet him in that shop across the way that sells trunks.”

Hermione nodded, eyeing the store itself. While it wasn’t painted the same garish purple as the store they just left, it was a decidedly odd shade of brown, which didn’t seem to sit well between the bright green and bright yellow buildings on either side of it. She tried not to sigh. The sooner they got through these tedious stores, the quicker she’d be able to browse the books and read ahead of her classes for September. Maybe they had a book on the history of the school?


	10. Harry IV

Breakfast had been a quiet affair, with a tearful Lispy sniffling and wiping away the occasional tear as she filled Harry’s plate for him. He had tried to protest, but the small Elf had a will of Mithril, and a stubborn streak to rival Sirius. She had created a small mountain of bacon and eggs on his plate, to the point he was genuinely fearful he would have to be rolled onto the train.

The Elf, who had raised him just as much as Sirius, Remus and Arcturus, she’d barely left his side as he ate, and a part of his heart shattered when the little sniffs punctuated his meal.

The second he could stomach no more food, for he knew Lispy would berate him tirelessly and fuss over him if he didn’t eat what she deemed enough, he threw his knife and fork down and swept the tearful Elf up in a hug. She squeaked in surprise, but after a moment returned the embrace. Her tiny shoulders shook with a barely contained sob as he lowered her back to the floor.

“I won’t be gone for long, Lispy. I’ll be back for Yule, and then you can stuff me full of your cooking to make sure I grow big and strong.”

“Lispy must bes making sure Master Harry Potter eats enough. Can’t bes trusting Hogwarties Elves to feed yous properly.” Lispy murmured, patting Harry affectionately on the cheek. He grinned down at the Elf.

“I’ll write you letters to make sure you know I’m doing alright. How does that sound?”

The little Elf nodded and threw her arms around Harry’s neck once more, the sound of her sniffling the only noise in the dining room.

Today was a big day for the family. Today was September the first, and in just a little over half an hour, the family would be leaving for Platform Nine and Three Quarters for Harry to board the Hogwarts Express. This morning, he had woken in his bed, just as he had for as long as he could remember, and tonight he would be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses and be assigned quarters at the same school his parents had attended – both his Black _and_ Potter parents.

He sighed as he got to his feet, sweeping his eyes across those that were also sat at the table. It was a small family tradition, to start the morning together. They would share their plans for the day with one another, often with Arcturus asking Remus to perform some task or another, while Sirius and he would plan something fun and exciting.

He would have it no other way and would miss them fiercely.

Arcturus had remained quiet the entire meal, his eyes sad but proud. Remus had attempted to read the morning’s Daily Prophet in an attempt to pretend it was like any other morning, while Sirius had glared at his food as if it had personally offended him.

“I’ll go and get my trunk, shall I?” Harry asked the table at large as he fiddled with the hem of his long-sleeved tunic under the sleeveless leather coat. It was rather odd that Hogwarts had two uniforms, though Arcturus had said it was the uniform of the older, more traditional families that kept ties with the Capitol.

Arcturus inclined his head slowly, and Harry found himself striding from the room with far more confidence than he felt. He loved Blackwall and the people that made it home, but he knew he would miss them something awful. Besides the excursion to the Capitol two years ago, he had never been separated from any of them for an extended period, with each trip since then having been taken from Rosestone’s _Ro’rim_.

Would they miss him as he would them? Surely. Sirius would be a mess for the coming months, he was sure of it. Maybe he would mope around for a few days as Padfoot until Arcturus threatened to stick him in a kennel outside.

Remus would bury himself in work, as he always did when something was bothering him while Arcturus would return to his political arena in the Wizengamot with a vengeance that almost made Harry feel sorry for his opponents. Almost.

Harry took the steps two at a time and hurried to his room, throwing open the door and watching as his two favourite girls startled a little. Clara had only continued to bloom in the last two years, her plumage becoming brighter and fuller. He had done a little research over the two years since their bonding, though what little information he’d been able to discover about their Burning Day’s was less than he’d have liked. As it happened, Clara had yet to have one, but he wanted to be prepared so as to make it as comfortable for her as he could.

Next to her, on a separate golden perch, was his most recent companion – a beautiful snow-white owl that he had named Hedwig, in honour of a witch he had read about in _Hogwarts: A History_. She was a feisty and proud thing, with gorgeous white plumage with little black spots on the ends of her wings.

Despite their size, the two familiars had not had any trouble pushing, shoving and nipping at one another for the right to rule the perch when he had first brought Hedwig home in July, forcing him to have to order a second perch, all for _Her Royal Hedwigness_ , as he had taken to calling her.

Hedwig leapt from her golden tower and flapped her way across the room to land on his shoulder, nipping playfully at his left ear. He glanced at her, chuckling and couldn’t help but notice that she was looking in Clara’s direction rather smugly. Clara, seemed to be watching the Snowy-Owl with something akin to exasperation, if the red and gold oversized pigeon could feel such a thing.

“Now, no fighting while I’m away, otherwise there’ll be no treats for either of you. Hedwig, you’re to stick to your own perch, and Clara,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at his Phoenix. “no cooking Hedwig.” Clara lifted her head snootily and refused to look at him.

While it was technically possible for a witch or wizard to bond with many familiars – the record, he had found out was twenty-six – it was an unwritten rule that students were only permitted to bring one. As a result, Clara would be joining him while Hedwig would take up the role of handling his correspondence.

He felt the weight on his shoulder disappear as Hedwig flapped back to her perch. With the weight removed, he moved over to his trunk. It was an older model that was designed with plenty of storage space. If one were to open the lid, they would find a simple set of stairs that would lead to a small storage space with enough room for all of his belongings. It had a wardrobe, a set of draws for his clothes, and various stacks of shelves, boxes and draws for his books and writing equipment. He had enough quills to cover a dozen Claras.

What was the most special about this trunk though, wasn’t the magic that had been woven into its construction, or the faded red and gold dyed leather. No, it was the three initials stamped proudly between the heavy golden clasps: _J.C.P_.

Sirius and Remus had sat him down the morning before they had gone to Diagon Alley and presented him with his father’s trunk. He had assumed he would get one of his own during their brief shopping adventure, but to have something _physical_ that he could reach out and touch that was his fathers was almost too much. He had thrown himself at Remus and Sirius, too emotional to say anything. The two men had swept him up in their arms and told him all about what his father would store in there – pranking materials, plans with dozens of diagrams of how to woo his mother and more. He snickered, picturing his teenage father writing down his plans late into the night like some evil megalomaniac from the stories he had read.

He sighed happily as his fingers traced the lettering tenderly. He may love Sirius like a father, and in some ways Sirius _was_ his father, but there was a part of him that _longed_ to know the man and woman who had given their lives for him.

With a sniff and a short, throaty cough, he stood and lifted the trunk easily in his hand. Whoever had charmed the case to be light was a genius. He gave one last look at the two birds from his doorway. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Clara. I’ll see you soon, Hedwig.”

He walked down the stairs easily enough, the trunk in his hand bouncing easily with each step. At the bottom of the stairs were the three adults, all adorned with their armour and fur cloaks resting on their shoulders. He smiled at them and fought hard to blink the tears away. Part of him truly didn’t want to leave them – would it be so terrible to be home-schooled?

“Gods, you look so much like your father did, pup.” Sirius breathed. Harry smiled at him as he walked down the last few steps.

“Except for his eyes – he has his mothers’ eyes.” Remus added, reaching over and ruffling Harry’s loose locks of hair. Harry scowled, putting the trunk down in the hallway for a moment as he attempted to tame his hair once again.

“Aye, he’s becoming a fine young man.” Arcturus grinned at them. “Come, we should leave now to avoid the rush.”

They all nodded, Sirius bending down and picking up Harry’s trunk before he could reach for it. He looked up at Sirius, one brow raised. Sirius winked down at him. “Let me do this for you at least, pup.”

Harry nodded, silently following the adults into Arcturus’s study. It had been announced the day prior that they would be using the Floo to travel to the platform, rather than Apparating – something which Harry was _immensely_ glad for. He had experienced it for the first-time last month, when he had gone and visited Neville and Daphne at the Greengrass estate. It had been an awful experience, and even now he had to force down his meal, lest it end up on the floor.

The quiet pitter-patter of tiny feet on the wooden floorboards brought him to a halt just outside Arcturus’s study as the adults entered. He turned around to see Lispy running down the hallway with something wrapped in a napkin while her other hand worried the flesh of one of her flappy bat-like ears.

She leapt the last metre and wrapped her arms around his leg, her quiet sobs breaking his heart all over again. He had known for many years that Lispy thought of him as her own, and he was thankful that she cared so much.

“Master Harry will bes hungry on the train. Can’t bes having that. Still a growing boy.” She managed through the tears.

He smiled and knelt down before her as she handed him the napkin. He opened it up a little to reveal a small pastry in the shape of a House Elf. He looked at Lispy and quickly pulled her into a hug. “I’ll miss you, Lispy.”

The little Elf grinned before shooing him towards the door. As he entered the room, he saw the three adults standing patiently for him, each with a small handful of Floo Powder already in their grasp.

“What have you got there, pup?” Sirius asked, a crooked smile on his face.

“Lispy didn’t want me getting hungry on the train.” He chuckled in return, affectionately pulling the small Elf into his side as best he could.

“Come on then, lets get a move on.” Remus chuckled, stepping into the fireplace as Harry re-wrapped the pastry. There was a flash of green flames and Remus was gone.

Arcturus went next, shortly followed by Sirius. When it was Harry’s turn, he stepped into the hearth with his powder in one hand, and wrapped pastry in the other and called out clearly, “Platform Nine and Three Quarters!”

There was the familiar sense of weightlessness as the green flames swallowed him. When they receded, he found himself stepping onto a train platform with large brick pillars and a high ceiling with dirty windows. There was a large walkway that hung above the tracks, where a beautiful red train sat, puffing large clouds of steam.

He grinned as he took in the front of the engine: _Hogwarts Express_. It was really happening.

“Over here, pup!” Remus called, waving over to him as he moved away from the Floo. He jogged over to the group, unable to wipe the excited smile from his face.

The adults around him all chuckled as he took the trunk from Sirius. “Now, I expect you to behave yourself and excel in your subjects, do you hear me?” Arcturus said, his voice commanding and powerful. The wink he gifted Harry with belied his seriousness.

“Do you have the map?” Sirius whispered as he knelt and pulled Harry into a powerful hug. Harry nodded into his Godfathers shoulder. “Good. And the mirror?”

“Both are in the trunk.”

“Excellent. And you remember all those charms and spells I taught you?”

Harry did remember them. For the last most, Sirius had been teaching him spells to clean his teeth, dry his hair, fold his clothes – all sorts. They were mundane spells, but they were the first bits of magic he had performed with his wand – he had been using them every day since they had returned from Diagon Alley. Harry nodded.

“Wonderful. I’m so proud of you, pup. I know you’ll do me and your parents proud.” Sirius grinned, his eyes shiny. Harry didn’t complain when Sirius pressed a kiss to his brow as he stood.

“You do this old wolf proud, Harry. Remember, if you have any questions, you just owl me and I’ll answer them as best I can.” Remus said, pulling Harry into a hug. Harry nodded and murmured a quiet promise. If he could, he’d be writing to them all each day.

“Now, you go get yourself a cabin and find Neville and Daphne.” Arcturus grinned, making a shooing motion with his hands. Harry nodded and with another round of goodbyes, began walking towards the carriages.

A quick glance around the platform as he boarded showed no signs of his two friends. With a shrug, he stepped into the train and began moving through the long corridors between the cabins, quickly glancing in each one as he passed, checking for his friends.

He stopped halfway down when he eyed a young girl his age with large bushy brown hair in the Muggle-born uniform curled up on a bench reading _Hogwarts: A History_. He thought it a little odd – most of the children his age were busy trying to make friends or chattering to friends they had boarded with. He considered asking if she were waiting for anyone but thought better of it. She seemed to be enjoying the book, and he would hate to interrupt her reading. Perhaps later, when they arrived at Hogwarts, he’d seek her out.

He continued on down the train a little more, only to grin widely when he caught sight of his friends in a cabin. He threw the door open and snickered at Neville’s slight jump at the noise. Daphne just rolled her eyes.

He quickly closed the door behind him and pushed his trunk up onto one of the overhead racks before sitting down next to Neville. Daphne had her back against the outer wall and her feet up on the bench as she flicked through a book.

“Harry, you scared the bloody _life_ out of me!” Neville griped, playfully shoving Harry in the arm. Harry grinned in response.

“Ah yes, it wouldn’t be Harry if he hadn’t made an entrance.” Daphne quipped, hooking some of her raven hair behind an ear. Like Harry, both of his friends were dressed the same way.

“I like to think I’m consistent, thank you.” Harry replied, leaning against the wall with the door and placing his own feet on the bench, though he bent his knees to allow Neville plenty of room.

“Did you bring Clara?” Neville asked after a moment. His best friend had been fascinated by the creature ever since he had returned with her two years ago, and Clara _knew_ it. She would always preen and stand a little taller when Neville visited, or she would show off as she flew in the air.

“Could you imagine the reaction of the train if he had?” Daphne snickered – while she too had been fascinated by the creature, she took far more pleasure in teasing him over essentially bonding with a burning Peacock.

“That’s a good point, we wouldn’t get five minutes of quiet.”

“Exactly. I have far too much to read without the two of you creating a circus of students in our cabin.” Daphne sniffed, flicking a page delicately.

“What are you reading?” Harry asked as he fiddled with the wrist holster on his right wrist that Sirius had bought for him last week.

“A book on Merlin Hawks. Father bought it for me once I bonded with Merlin.”

Neville snorted as the train gave a loud whistle and students of all ages passed their door. “I still can’t believe you named him Merlin.”

“In comparison to _Trevor The Toad_?” Daphne replied, her dark eyebrows rising almost to her hairline as she looked at Neville, who pulled the small amphibian to his chest. Harry hadn’t noticed he had been holding him.

“I’ll have you know Trevor is a noble name! He’ll be the most feared Toad at Hogwarts, just you wait.”

Harry snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh aye, feared because we’ll never know where he ends up.”

Neville turned to reply to him but was interrupted by the lurch of the train pulling away. All three of them looked at each other and grinned.

“This is it.” Harry breathed, waving at the window as they passed his guardians.

“Aye, the next time we board this train, we’ll officially be witches and wizards.” Neville replied wistfully.

“We’re already those things.” Daphne replied, rolling her eyes as she opened up her book once again.

Harry and Neville looked at each other and shrugged before leaving her to her book. They talked for hours, each coming up with their own ideas of what the coming years would hold.

Harry imagined himself returning home to Blackwall with enough spells under his belt to begin duelling with Sirius, though he knew it to be nothing more than a dream. Likely they wouldn’t be taught spells advanced enough to duel until the later years – although, perhaps he could be wrong.

The truth was none of them had any real idea of what the school curriculum would be like outside of the books they had bought for their classes. Each of them had read the books cover to cover, of course – not wanting to be caught unprepared for the classes, though they had all been stuck when it came to the practical application of things.

Daphne’s family, while Harry knew they traded in Alchemy and Potions supplies for the most part, actually didn’t have any facilities to practice either of those trades in their ancestral home. Perhaps they had, long ago, but the room had likely been converted into something else by some ancestor or another.

Neville’s ancestral home _did_ have a Potions laboratory, but his grandmother Augusta had expressly forbidden him from using it until after his third year, when she felt safe in his using it. Augusta was a stern and protective woman, but she was a lovely person once you got past that _awful_ vulture hat and sharp words. He couldn’t blame her of her protectiveness – not after what had happened to both of Neville’s parents.

He had gone with Neville to visit them a few times – Neville’s mother had been his own Godmother, after all, so as far as Harry was concerned, they were family. It had been difficult, seeing them in that room, screaming and yelling as they thrashed about in their restraints. They had calmed somewhat at Neville’s presence, but they still mumbled incoherently every now and then.

He and Neville had been friends for as long as he could remember – the two of them had practically grown up together. He considered Neville his brother, if not in blood then in spirit. He would be there for his friend whenever called upon – if that meant offering his support when those trips became too difficult, then he would do so.

Daphne had joined them some years into the friendship, and while at first she had been distant and aloof, she had eventually become the third part of their group. Daphne had been introduced to them at Blackwall, while her father conducted business with Arcturus.

Harry and Neville had wanted to run around and swing sticks at one another, but Daphne had insisted they simply sit and talk. It had taken some convincing on her part, but eventually the three had sat down and introduced themselves. In hindsight, and the benefit of age, he couldn’t fault the dark-haired girl – being introduced to the two rambunctious boys must have been daunting for her.

A few hours later, they had convinced her to play with them, and she had. Though, she had nearly punched Neville in the face when he had suggested she be the princess in their adventure as gallant knights. She had proceeded to wipe the floor with both of them, leaving them wheezing and a little sore as she towered above them, holding her stick triumphantly. He hadn’t underestimated her since.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door sliding open, and an elderly woman pushing a trolley poking her head in. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

“No thanks, I’m all set.” Harry answered, holding up his still wrapped pastry with a smile.

“I’ll have a chocolate frog, please.” Neville replied, while Daphne just shook her head.

With a chocolate frog in hand, Neville returned to his seat – his toad long since placed in his travel container. With deft fingers, Neville opened up the box and grabbed the chocolate frog as it leapt into the air – Harry had to supress a grimace as his friend bit the animated chocolate amphibian’s head off.

“Doesn’t that bother you? What with Trevor and all?” He found himself asking.

Neville shrugged as he frowned a little before swallowing what was in his mouth. “Never really thought about it. Besides, he’s a Toad – they’re completely different.”

“They are?” Harry found himself asking, but ended up forcing himself not to groan as Daphne chimed in.

“Of course they’re different. They’re two different species, Harry. For example, a Frog has teeth, while Toads do not. Frogs have a mucus covered skin, while Toads do not.”

“Forget I said anything.” Harry replied, rolling his eyes as he opened up the napkin of his pastry.

As he took a bite, savouring the sweet taste of the strawberry jam filling, Neville let out a small cheer as he held a small card in his hand. Daphne rolled her eyes in her seat and returned to her seat, muttering something about boys and obsessions with stupid cards.

“Who did you get?”

“Only bloody _Morgana_!” He exclaimed. The quiet slam of Daphne’s book closing made him jump a little.

“You did? Show me!” Daphne demanded. It was a well-known secret between the three of them that Daphne had a great deal of respect and admiration for the ancient witch – indeed, Harry did too, but he’d always prefer Merlin. Sometimes he did it just to wind Daphne up.

Neville offered her the card, and the two of them watched as Daphne gazed upon it almost reverently. “ _Morgana Le Fay_ , _a witch renowned for her great magical successes and ultimately held responsible for the death of King Arthur. Morgana Le Fay was a known Animagus, taking on the form of a Raven and a recognised Mage. It is unclear what finally became of her, though it is rumoured she retreated from the world alongside Merlin_.” Daphne read out, before flipping the card and gazing at the woman depicted.

Harry moved to Daphne’s side as he took the image in. She was beautiful, with thick dark hair that was pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head – though strands seemed to be arranged to mimic feathers.

She wore a deep burgundy shawl that left her arms bare and cinched around her waist, leaving a generous amount of her skin bare. Both arms had wraps and trinkets of some kind along them, as well as a number of dark tattoos. An elegant gold necklace hung around her neck with a brilliant sapphire.

“She’s gorgeous.” Harry breathed – he had never seen any depictions of Morgana Le Fay, and all the descriptions of her in the books he had read, had described her in not so many kind words.

“She did much for witches during her time. It is because of her that we can attend schools and vote. That she is held accountable for the death of Arthur, even all these years later is naught but the result of vile propaganda put forth by bitter old men.”

Harry tore his eyes from Morgana, who he could have sworn _winked_ at him, and looked at his friend. Daphne had admitted her admiration for the historical witch just this past Summer when they had ended up relaxing in her room when they visited her home. Harry had been looking for something to read, from her many books and had stumbled across a number of tomes dedicated to the woman.

It had been the first time he could remember seeing Daphne blush – that in itself had been something that he had never thought he would see. It had been _weeks_ and he was still stunned.

“Keep it.” Neville smiled from across the aisle. Daphne’s head snapped up, her mouth wide in surprise.

“No, I couldn’t.” She began, already holding the card out to him.

“No, we all know how much she means to you. I’ll get another one – just another excuse for more frogs.” Neville winked, throwing his feet up on the seat and turning from the dark-haired girl opposite him.

“Well, that settles it. Congratulations, Daphne.” Harry chuckled as he returned to his seat. He looked over at the girl and saw her beaming smile. It wasn’t often she smiled, but each time she did he would swear it lit up the room.

Speaking of girls who’s smiles lit up a room…

“Is Astoria going to be alright without you around?”

Daphne rolled her eyes as she stood and tucked the card into her trunk on the rack above her. “I think she’ll miss _Her Harry_ more than she’ll miss me.”

Harry grinned cheekily, “I always knew I was her favourite.”

“Oh, that was never in question.” Neville snorted.

It was true. If Neville was his brother, then Astoria had stolen his heart and become the little sister he had always wanted. Each time he visited the Greengrass family, he always had something for Astoria for her to enjoy – sometimes it was a soft toy, or a doll that was charmed to have a tea-party. The last time he had seen her, he had given her a small framed photo of himself with Clara and Hedwig on either side of him. She had attached herself to him for the remainder of his stay, regaling him with tales of her many tea-parties with the House Elves and her dolls, and her adventures on the grounds and how many monsters she had slain.

“Hey, it could have quite easily have gone to Hedwig.” Harry snickered, casually folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the wall.

“Evidently, we’re not talking about the same Astoria.” Daphne snorted as she sat back down and crossed her legs.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger.” Neville snickered. It was true – little Astoria would be the death of him.

“Guilty as charged.” Harry replied, chuckling.

The daylight had long since faded into night, but by his guess, they still had an hour or two to go. Some of the older students had passed the room every now and then – some going so far as to stick their heads in the room to make sure they weren’t up to something. On each of the uniforms of these students, Harry had spotted a small silver pin with the word _Prefect_ on it. Sirius had warned him about the Prefects – apparently they were humourless students who lived and breathed the rules.

Remus, on the other hand had refuted that claim and instead told him – in a much more believable manner – that they were young witches and wizards who showed maturity and responsibility, and were trusted by the teachers to look after their fellow students. He had also pointed out that his mother had been a Prefect, and that both his mother and father had gone on to become Head Boy and Head Girl.

As it happened, each Prefect he had come into contact with so far on the journey had been perfectly polite and friendly. Harry figured Sirius had been caught once or twice by the Prefects of his time for some prank or another – Harry loved Sirius, he truly did, but he knew damn well that Moony had been the brains behind the Marauders.

That wasn’t to say Sirius couldn’t be devious and sneaky – far from it. Harry had suffered enough of his pranks over the years to say otherwise, but Sirius had a habit of acting without thinking, while Remus was much more cautious.

Harry let out a contented sigh as he shifted in his position and felt his back pop a little – the action causing little tingles the spread through his body.

“Must you do that?” Daphne asked from across the aisle. Harry looked over and noted she hadn’t looked up from her book.

“Do what?” He asked, glancing at Neville who seemed just as confused.

“Crack your back – the sound is revolting.”

Harry shrugged, “I don’t mean to do it, it just happens.”

“I’m sure.” Daphne replied, her tone of voice making it quite clear she didn’t believe a word he had said.

A knock on the door halted any reply he would have had. He turned to look at a group of children similar in age to himself.

“Have any of you seen Harry Potter? We’ve been looking for him up and down the train.” A red-haired boy with freckles and dressed in the Muggle-born uniform asked.

The three of them looked to one another. Ever since his return from his trip a little over two years ago, his scar had almost completely disappeared, leaving only a thing white line to indicate it had in fact ever been there.

Harry shook his head ever so slightly.

“I’m afraid not. We’d certainly know if he had been in here.” Daphne replied for them, quirking a brow at the group and the copper-haired boy in particular. It was the same look that Daphne had thrown in both his and Neville’s direction a number of times – they’d usually done _something_ to deserve it, though there were times Harry thought she did it just to make them sweat.

The group behind the boy groaned collectively, with one witch going so far as to stamp her foot petulantly. Harry noted for the first time that the boy had a streak of dirt on his nose.

“Excuse me,” Harry began before pointing to his nose, “You have something on your nose. A bit of dirt.”

The boy scowled and rubbed at his face, doing nothing more than to spread the smudge further. Before he could say anything more, the boy turned and stomped off, likely to bother another group – the small herd of children followed behind him.

Neville stood and closed the door with a scoff, “Honestly, the manners of some people.”

Harry shrugged and returned to leaning his head back against the wall as he listened to his two friends.

“It’s to be expected. There are many who worship Harry Potter.” Daphne pointed out, her voice even and measured.

“True, but they only know the person from the columns in the Daily Prophet – not _Harry_.”

“Aye, you’re right but remember that the child that destroyed You-Know-Who is also that same eleven-year-old boy sat next to you.”

“What do you mean? He’s Harry!” Neville replied, quite obviously confused.

“Come now Neville, you’re a powerful wizard yourself – surely you can sense the power Harry has at his fingertips? I know I certainly do. People will be drawn to him, one way or another – mark my words.”

Harry squirmed at that. He didn’t want to draw _anyone_ to him – he’d rather just fade into the background of the school and do well in class. He didn’t want to be paraded about as some poster child.

He had been lauded and celebrated ever since his supposed defeat of Voldemort, but nobody besides his friends and family had taken time to think about just what he’d _lost_. He had lost his mother and father, the two people who had given him life. _Merlin_ , he didn’t even know what he’d done, if he’d indeed done anything at all – nothing of Voldemort had ever been recovered as far as he was aware, not even his wand. It was anyone’s guess what had truly happened – personally, he liked to think his parents had done The-Dark-Prick in. When he came of age, he already had plans to create a memorial statue for his parents in Godric’s Hollow.

That was a place he hadn’t thought of for some time. The last time he had been there, had been shortly after his return from Arpton Keep and gaining the fealty of those sworn to him. He had begged and pleaded with Sirius and Remus to visit their graves – he had to see them, to look upon them and _be_ there. With them.

It had been shortly after he had recounted his life to them over the course of a warm summer afternoon that he had decided to have them entombed at Arpton Keep, with his father buried in the halls of his forefathers, with his mother buried alongside him. It had felt right, and in this way Harry could honour them as _he_ wanted to – not as some Ministry official had some days after their deaths.

They had been moved six months later with all the honour and dignity possible – he had even enlisted the help of the House Elves that were bonded to him through Rosestone Castle. Those small, honourable creatures had proudly carried the coffins of his parents atop their shoulders through the _Ro’rim_ and into Arpton. Sirius and Remus had followed him, both with tears freely flowing down their cheeks.

One of the benefits of the two adults were their memories and the castle Pensieve. He had hired an Artisan from the Capitol who was regarded as a Master Stone Smith to carve the statues of his parents to stand proudly above their final resting place. He had been assured that the stone wouldn’t age as the Artisan weaved spell after spell into his creation. By the end of it, there had been a man and woman standing proudly before him that looked as real Sirius and Remus. He had sat there that whole night and simply looked at them, committing their faces to memory.

“Can we not talk about the power at my fingertips?” He begged as his eyes opened slowly. He blew out a breath.

Daphne sniffed as the train began to slow down. “I’m simply stating a fact. Not even Arcturus himself compares to you.”

Harry rubbed at his temples as the lights from the Hogsmeade Train Station inched past their window. Both Neville and Daphne stood quickly – leaving their luggage in the racks for it to be collected and taken to their dormitories by the staff.

“You know it makes me uncomfortable.” Harry grumbled as he too got to his feet, following Daphne out when Neville gestured for him to go first. He grinned at his friend.

Daphne shrugged a shoulder lazily as she looked over her shoulder while they inched down the corridor towards the door. “I don’t know why, Harry. You’ll be a magnificent wizard someday – I’m positive of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, just keep walking, you impossible witch.” He grumbled as he gave her a playful shove, pointedly ignoring the heat that had crept up his neck at his friend’s words.

They stepped down onto the concrete platform as Harry awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. All around them was a sea of black robes, with the occasional splash of red, yellow, blue and green. There were _hundreds_ of students!

“Firs’ years, this way! C’mon now! Firs’ years, this way!” A loud voice called over the din of children nattering to one another. Harry turned to look for the source of the voice, only to have his breath leave him in a stunned gasp.

There, standing in a large moleskin coat with the thickest bushy beard he had ever seen, and an equally bushy head of long hair that fell down to his shoulders was an absolute _giant_ of a man, with a large lantern held in his hand.

“ _Bloody Hell_!” Neville murmured as his own eyes caught sight of the huge man.

“Keep it down, you idiots and pick your jaws off the floor!” Daphne hissed as she elbowed them both in the ribs as they took positions on either side of her.

Harry winced as he rubbed at his ribs and snapped his mouth shut.

All the children their age gathered before the man, who up close had a pleasant smile and kindly dark eyes hidden amongst the hair. “Right then, this way ter the boats then. C’mon now!”

They followed along silently, though Harry noted that it was only the first years that followed the large man. All the other students it seemed were walking towards a large grouping of carriages that were attached to large skeletal horses with black skin and large wings. He nudged Daphne in the side and pointed to the carriages and whispered, “What do you think those are?”

“What do I think _what_ are?”

“Those horses attached to the carriages, of course.”

There was a moment of silence as both Neville and Daphne looked towards the carriages before they were out of sight. His two friends looked at one another for a moment before turning to look at Harry.

“Harry, there was nothing there. The carriages were pulling themselves.” Neville replied.

Harry frowned. Had he imagined them? If Neville and Daphne hadn’t seen them, he must have been – it was likely the dark, playing tricks on him.

They continued away from the station, following the large man down a well-worn path that seemed to meander down a gentle incline. In the distance, behind the mass of feet and chattering children, he thought he could hear the sound of gentle waves on a shoreline. It reminded him of a beach that Sirius had taken him to when he was five.

“Righ’ then! Four to a boat! C’mon, mind yer step!”

It took a moment for him to realise they were gathered on the shore of a lake, with dozens upon dozens of small boats tied to a series of small piers. He certainly hadn’t expected to be arriving at Hogwarts in a boat – especially at night.

The crowd thinned as groups of students secured themselves in the boats, though as Harry peered closer, he noted the absence of any oars. How were they to move in the water? The realisation struck him a moment later, and he had to stop himself from burying his face in his hands – he felt like a fool. They were magic, of course!

A few moments later, they found themselves a boat with only a single occupant – that same bushy-haired girl he had seen on the train that morning. He suddenly felt guilty about forgetting about her sitting there on her own with her book.

She peered at them as they all climbed into the boat, and she appeared to be worrying the cloak of her Muggle-born uniform between the finger and thumb of her left hand.

“Hello,” Harry smiled, “is it alright if we share your boat?”

“Of course.” She replied, a shy smile of her own on her lips. “I’m Hermione, Hermione Granger.”

Harry noted her accent – decidedly southern, and from around London if he were to take a guess. There were a number of wizarding families in that area – _Merlin_ , her accent wasn’t far off of Daphne’s. Oh, _Merlin_ , there couldn’t be _two_ of them!

“Daphne Greengrass.” Daphne replied, offering her hand to the girl.

“Neville Longbottom.” Neville added, offering a toothy grin.

“Harry. Harry Potter.” He finished, wincing as she gave an astonished gasp.

“Holy _cricket_! I’ve read all about you! It’s a pleasure to meet all three of you.”

“Hear that, Harry? You’re in books!” Neville snickered, causing Harry to cuff him over the back of the head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“ Hermione began, her eyes wide. She paused and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say that I thought it an awful thing that happened to your parents.”

Harry was stunned, and for a moment didn’t realise that the boat was moving slowly away from the pier. Nobody, besides Neville and Daphne had ever said anything like that before – most often completely forgot he had lost his parents at all. He remembered one particularly callous ponce who had asked how they were doing. Sirius had leapt at the man, with Remus having to bodily lift him even as his fists and feet continued to swing.

“Thank you.” He murmured as his gaze lowered to a particularly interesting bit of wood between his boots.

“Why do you think they’ve got us in boats?” Neville asked. Harry smiled at him, grateful for the change in topic.

“I would suspect, it’s likely for that.” Daphne replied, pointing into the darkness as they rounded a bend.

The boat rocked side to side ever so slightly as they shifted to look where Daphne was pointing. Harry gripped the side of the boat as it dipped a little too close to the surface of the lake for his liking – he had no intention of arriving at Hogwarts soaked to the bone.

He quickly darted his eyes from the murky black water to where Daphne was pointing. There, ahead of them and rising eerily out of the mists on the far side of the body of water, was a huge castle perched atop the rocky slopes of the surrounding countryside.

Its large circular towers rose powerfully into the sky, with their cone-shaped caps stretching even further still. It wasn’t like any castle he had seen before – there were no curtain walls, though he certainly did spot what appeared to be a great hall of some kind that dwarfed any of the other buildings that were sequestered away in the darkness.

The entire castle was lit with the warm orange glow of lanterns and candle light flickering out of the many windows. It looked breath-taking.

All around him, the excited murmuring of the children in the nearby boats whispered across the lake until a girl shrieked and pointed out into the darkness.

Harry’s head snapped towards the noise, and he saw a blonde girl pointing a trembling finger out across the lake where a large tentacle was idly waving to them. Harry definitely didn’t want to end up in the murky water.

“It’s beautiful.” Neville breathed excitedly, looking over at Harry.

Harry grinned at his friend’s excitement – it was true, the school was indeed beautiful. What would it look like in the daytime, he wondered? Today was a Sunday, which meant it was unlikely he would get a chance to see it tomorrow. The first chance he got; he would find a spot on the grounds overlooking the castle that would be _his_.

“Aye.” Daphne whispered; her eyes wide as she continued to stare at the school. Harry gave her a poke in the ribs with his finger, though his snickering at his friend’s expense was cut short when she directed her glare in his direction. The tongue she stuck out lessened the impact a little, he supposed.

It wasn’t long before the giant of a man bellowed a warning as they approached one of the cliffs the school sat atop, “Heads down!”

Harry stared up at the high ceiling and couldn’t imagine anyone needing to keep their heads down besides their odd guide. They were carried along a long tunnel that was wide enough for four boats to sit comfortably side-by-side – Harry had to slap Neville’s hand away from a wriggling plant that hung from the ceiling as he went to touch it. Neville shrugged unapologetically – he couldn’t blame him; Harry had long known of Neville’s green-thumb.

They reached an underground harbour, much like the one they had boarded the boats on. Harry couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he sat comfortably while their boat glided itself into an empty space. The four of them scrambled out of the boat, the dull thuds of their shoes and boots on the remarkably dry wooden planks echoed loudly throughout the large chamber the tunnel had opened into.

The large man lifted his large lantern in his meaty fist as his gaze swept the boats – once he was seemingly satisfied, he called for them all to follow him up a flight of smooth stone steps towards a huge oak door emblazoned with the sigil of the school.

“Everyone here?” The man asked, as they all nodded their heads. Harry thought there must be at least a hundred students looking at the man. “Good.”

The man raised a gigantic fist and gave a booming trio of knocks that shook the door. Any harder, and Harry was sure the door would shatter.

The door swung open at once, revealing a black-haired witch of average height in emerald-green robes. She had a stern face as she peered over a pair of spectacles that were perched on her nose.

“The firs-years, Professor McGonagall,” The man grinned.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here.”

The door swung wider, revealing a room so large it rivalled Blackwall’s. His eyes swept the meticulous stonework, eyeing the four animals that made up the Hogwarts sigil. The lion of Gryffindor, the snake of Slytherin, the badger of Hufflepuff and the Eagle of Ravenclaw – all were illuminated by flaming torches, whose light reflected on the gleaming marble staircase.

Professor McGonagall, he knew, had looked after him for a time as a babe shortly after the death of his parents. At least now he had a face to put to the name and the stories from Sirius. It eased his mind somewhat to know at least _one_ person in the castle outside of his friends.

He found himself being carried along by the sheer number of bodies as they moved to follow the Professor up the stairs, though Daphne and Neville never strayed from his side – though he noted Hermione was a little ahead of them as he saw her large, bushy hair turning this way and that as she looked around.

The sound of hundreds of voices quickly reached his ears through a pair of large doors, similar to the ones they had already entered through just minutes before, once they reached the top of the staircase. Rather than lead them into the room however, the Professor instead led them to a small room just a little further down the corridor. It was plain and unfurnished but was large enough to fit at least twice their number inside. The Professor remained by the door.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” The Professor began once everyone was inside. “The start-of-term feast, will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. These houses will become your family.” A few students shuffled from foot to foot, and Harry heard someone scoff behind him – he fought the urge to frown and turn around.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points.” The Professor paused and swept her eyes over them, though for some inexplicable reason, he felt her eyes linger on him for a moment.

“At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

“The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered on the copper-haired boy with dirt on his face. “I will return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” She swept from the room with the hem of her robes trailing after her.

“What do you suppose we’ll have to do?” The voice of a boy in the back whispered loud enough for the rest of the room to hear.

“Fred told me we have to fight a Troll. Said they had to fight an Acromantula in their sorting – I reckon he was lying, though.” The copper-haired boy replied confidently as he squared his shoulders.

A blonde-haired boy, who’s hair was slicked entirely back with _far_ too much hair product, scoffed and pushed his way to the front of the room as he sneered at the boy. Harry noted the blonde boy was flanked on either side by a pair of burly boys who were as wide as they were tall – they reminded him of Gorilla’s.

“Of course they were lying, you idiot.” The boy sneered as he rolled his eyes. “It’s no wonder your family can’t afford _proper_ clothing if they’re all as thick as you, Weasley.”

Harry noted for the first time that the blonde boy was attired in the same uniform as himself. He looked at Daphne, who just shrugged and pursed her lips in thought. Harry knew of the Weasley family – their house was also afforded the rank of Ancient and Most Noble, just like his own. Though, from his lessons with Arcturus, he also knew they barely managed to scrape-by and had a strong progressive stance when it came to Magical Culture – one of the many sons of the main line, the third-born called Arthur Weasley, if he remembered correctly, was a loud advocate for adopting Muggle traditions. It hadn’t earned him, or the Weasley family as a whole, many favours.

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy.” Weasley growled, and even from here Harry could see the tips of his ears turning a similar colour to that of the hair on his head.

Ah, so this was the Malfoy heir? No wonder he seemed a prick.

Lucius Malfoy was the head of the Noble House of Malfoy. While they could trace _some_ of their lineage back to the Norman Invasion, they were a French family primarily. They held _some_ weight in the French political arena, though the branch of the family that had finally settled in England had only _truly_ arrived a hundred or so years ago. According to Arcturus, they liked to flaunt their money and small amounts of power to make themselves feel more important.

It was also a well-known fact in the Wizengamot – according to both Sirius _and_ Arcturus, that the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge was so deep in Malfoy’s pocket, he may as well have been sewn in.

“Please,” Malfoy scoffed. “As if I’m concerned that you’d do anything, especially after your failed hunt for your vaunted _Boy-Who-Lived_.”

Harry winced – he _really_ hated that name. He noticed Hermione look over her shoulder at him and smile a little. He smiled politely in return.

“How did that go? I bet he’s not even here – likely thinks he’s too good for your rabble.” Malfoy sneered, casting his eyes at the children around Weasley. Harry noted they were all wearing the Muggle-born uniform and felt his fists clench at his sides as his heart began pumping a little harder.

“Don’t.” Daphne hissed in his ear as she grasped the wrist of his right hand. “Let him make a fool of himself.”

“He’s treating the Muggle-born like dirt, Daphne. My _mother_ was Muggle-born.” Harry hissed in return.

“She’s right, Harry. No need to make a scene before we’ve started school.” Neville chimed in, patting Harry gently on the back. Slowly, he reined his temper in and took some slow, steadying breaths.

McGonagall returned at that moment with a thick scroll in her hand as she looked between Malfoy and Weasley. With a pointed look, she said, “I do hope the two of you weren’t on the verge of doing something foolish. It would be a shame to begin your academic careers with detentions.”

“No Professor, just a healthy debate.” Malfoy replied, bowing a little and offering a smile. From the look on the Professor’s face, it was anything but convincing.

“Indeed. In any event, the ceremony is about to begin. If you’ll all follow me.”

They did – the mass of black coats and cloaks followed in an orderly line out of the door and through the large doors that had barely been muffling the din of hundreds of noises before. This time as they approached, the noise was absent.

Professor McGonagall pushed the large doors that were easily six or more times his height and the sight that greeted him threatened to steal his breath. Along four long tables that took almost the entire length of the massive hall were hundreds of students of all ages from twelve to seventeen. Above each table hung the banners of each house, with Slytherin on the far left, then Gryffindor, the Ravenclaw and finally Hufflepuff on the far right.

Above them were _thousands_ of floating candles and even higher than that was a large arched ceiling that was so high, he couldn’t see the highest point.

“It’s bewitched to look like the night’s sky. I read it in _Hogwarts: A History_.” The voice of Hermione spoke up, proudly informing the whispering students next to her that were looking up at the bewitched ceiling with looks of wonder on their faces. The students pinned Hermione with an odd look, but he thought nothing of it.

His head lowered, and he found his eyes drawn to the far end of the hall, where a large table sat upon a raised platform. All along it were adults in various robes, coats, suits and tunics. The staff appeared to be made up of all sorts, from young witches and wizards, to men and women who upon first glance seemed to be as old as the castle itself!

In the centre of the table was a man sat in a large golden throne with a long white beard that was pinched by a band in the middle of its length and had the appearance of a kindly, eccentric grandfather with halfmoon glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

Between the awaiting students and the table, however, was a simple stool and an ancient-looking pointed hat with a wide brim.

They came to a halt a few steps from the stool when Professor McGonagall held up a hand. He also noted the had come to a halt between the Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw tables. He looked around nervously. He looked at Daphne who gave him an encouraging wink, while Neville gave him a confident nod. No matter what happened, they would remain friends.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” McGonagall called into the silence. She unrolled the parchment, which was longer than he was expecting.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line, carefully perched herself on the stool and put the hat on her head. There was a moment’s pause before a deep voice called, “Hufflepuff!”

Where had that voice come from? Harry looked around the room for a few moments until his eyes caught sight of the hat _moving_! The hat was bewitched! That was bloody _brilliant_!

“Bones, Susan!”

He knew the Bones family. Amelia Bones, the current regent for the family until her niece came of age, was the head of the D.M.L.E – the ‘police force’ of magical Britain. He had met Amelia a number of times over the years, and she was a kind but stern woman with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones and full lips with her hair always tied up in a blonde knot at the back of her head. Sirius always insisted on trying to flirt with her.

“Hufflepuff!” The hat called out to the cheers of the Hufflepuff table. He watched the girl scurry off to sit next to Hannah Abbott.

“Boot, Terry!”

“Ravenclaw!” This time it was the Ravenclaws turn to erupt in a cheer and Harry winced at the din.

Harry began tuning out the names and the cheers until a name he recognised was called for.

“Granger, Hermione!”

He watched as Hermione practically sprinted to the stool and jammed the hat on her head. He chuckled – no doubt, wherever she ended up she would do well with that enthusiasm.

There was a moment of heavy silence in the hall before a resounding, “Gryffindor!” was called.

The table to his left erupted with cheers, just as they had done with all of their other new students. He grinned and waved at Hermione as she ran to the table – she waved back and sat down to pats on the back from those on either side of her.

“Greengrass, Daphne!”

Daphne sucked in a breath from his side as she nodded to herself. She nodded at both Harry and Neville before she strode confidently towards the stool with her head held high. He didn’t know who was more nervous, himself or Daphne. She donned the hat slowly.

“Slytherin!”

Harry and Neville were cheering just as much as the Slytherin table and received a few odd looks from those around them. Daphne blushed a little before darting towards the table as she sat besides a girl that he remembered to be called Davis.

Eventually, it was Neville’s turn, and as he stepped from the line, Harry gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. Neville sat slowly as his coat pooled around his legs. The hat barely touched his head before, “Gryffindor!”

Again, the Gryffindor table erupted in noise and cheers and Harry was no different as he clapped his hands together. Neville was so excited; he began moving to the table before he realised he was still wearing the hat!

Harry listened to the names as they were rattled off. Malfoy, Mallard, Moon, Nott, Newt, Parkinson, Passel, Patt…

“Potter, Harry!” Professor McGonagall called out far more proudly than she had any of the others, he thought.

He stepped forward, the whispers hissing all around him. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

“ _Potter_ , did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

The Professor gently laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he stepped before her. He looked at her and thought her eyes looked a little shinier than they had been just a few moments before. “It’s good to see you all grown up, lad. Your parents would be _very_ proud of you.”

He nodded shakily, as he turned to face the hall. With a deep breath, he sunk onto the chair and closed his eyes as the hat was lowered onto his head.

“ _Oh_ , a _Potter_ , eh? It’s been some time since I’ve had to place one of your lot. It can only be… Gryffindor!”

The table of Gryffindor erupted like it hadn’t for anyone else – each member having leapt to their feet as they cheered loudly. Harry grinned as he looked to the Professor who beamed proudly at him, with a nod of her head, she shooed him off to the table.

He passed two identical lanky red-heads that were proudly stood on the benches and chanting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

He took his spot next to Neville who grinned and swept him into a one-armed hug. He looked over to Daphne who was beaming proudly at him from the Slytherin table.

He was immediately caught up in a wave of well-wishers, handshakes, and pats on the back – even Hermione was grinning at him from her spot a little further down the table.

He looked over towards the stool, who had another student already perched on it and his eyes were drawn to the man in the golden throne – Albus Dumbledore. He watched as the man gave him a smile and a wink before raising a golden goblet in his direction. Harry nodded back with a grin and lost himself in the rest of the sorting.

The list quickly got to the young Weasley boy who was sorted into Gryffindor and tried to sit between himself and Neville, only to be denied with a pointed look from the two of them. He quickly plonked himself down on Harry’s other side though.

Zabini Blaise, was the final student to be sorted, and as he moved to sit at Slytherin, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and moved the stool and the hat to the side of the room before joining the high table at Dumbledore’s right hand side.

As she sat, Dumbledore rose, and the hall became deathly silent.

“Welcome!” He called, a beaming smile on his face. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

The hall clapped and cheered as Dumbledore once more took his seat.

“He’s mad.” Neville whispered in his ear, causing Harry to snicker.

There was a rush of magic from the tables, and immediately the plates and dishes arranged on the table were filled with all sorts of food. There were sausages, potatoes, vegetables, whole chickens, legs of lamb and even some venison steaks!

His mouth was watering at the sight and more importantly, _the smell_.

He reached out and began spooning vegetables onto his plate, followed by a juicy venison steak lathered in a moderate portion of gravy. He began carving into his food with his knife and closed his eyes in contented bliss when the meat from his first forkful melted on his tongue.

“Careful there, Harry. If your eyes go any further into the back of your head, they’ll get stuck!” Neville chuckled after swallowing his own mouthful – a quick glance at Neville’s plate told him it was chicken.

Both of them sat with straight backs, with their elbows tucked tightly into their sides as they ate. The Weasley boy to Harry’s left, however, was all elbows and loud smacking lips and slurping gulps of gravy.

Harry watched as a pale, grubby hand snatched out to grasp a chicken leg. It was so terribly fascinating; he just couldn’t look away.

After only a few minutes of eating, Harry found himself fully sated and it wasn’t much longer until the plates and dishes disappeared, only to reveal mountains of desserts. There were ice creams, pastries, fruits, chocolates – all sorts! Harry cut himself a small slice of treacle tart and grabbed a juicy looking apple.

A conversation on the far side of the Weasley boy that drew his attention – apparently the conversation on the table between the first years had turned towards their blood-purity – frankly the oddest dinner topic he could think of.

“I’m half and half,” A boy was saying, his Irish accent thick between mouthfuls of food. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam’s a witch. Bit of a nasty shock he found out!”

There was a smattering of laughter around the boy, and Harry couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips as he listened in.

“What about you, Longbottom?” Someone asked – a dark-skinned Muggle-born judging from his uniform.

“Don’t be stupid, Longbottom is an Ancient and Noble House! Of course he’s a Pureblood!” Someone called out further down the line of students.

Neville had turned scarlet next to him as he glared at the offending students.

“What about you, Potter?”

“Everyone knows House Potter is even older than Longbottom!”

“I heard he’s Muggle-born!”

“Quiet!” Harry snapped as he threw down his fork, suddenly far less hungry than he had been before. The voices around him had silenced themselves as each student shifted awkwardly in their seats.

Dozens of eyes were staring at him, wondering what he was going to say. He took a deep breath.

“Why does it matter?” He asked after a moment, casting his eyes along the table.

“Well, you defeated You-Know-Who, surely you’re a Pureblood to be _that_ powerful!” Someone asked.

“Yeah, you’d have to be powerful!”

“You all honestly believe your blood determines how powerful you are?” Harry gasped. He knew it was a common train of thought that founded the _Traditionalist_ political agenda, but to hear it come from those no older than himself?

“What else could it be?” A Muggle-born asked – he noted Hermione was watching the events play out quietly as she slowly ate from a bowl of fruit.

“Magic?” He asked the table at large. He looked at their confused faces and sighed. “Your blood _could_ be a contributing factor, but so can _magic_.”

“What do you mean?” Weasley asked after a moment with a frown on his face.

“What separates us from Muggles? Magic. Magic chose _us_!”

“What, so magic is alive? Is that it?” Weasley snickered as he snapped a biscuit in two.

Harry shrugged, “I have no idea – but there are plenty of records of wizards and witches with little power being born to Purebloods, as with anyone else.”

“So, which are you?”

He heard Neville sigh next to him, and Harry fought the urge to rub at his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.

“Did you not just listen to him? He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.” Neville snapped, throwing down his own fork. “Why does it matter in any case? We’re here to learn about _magic_ , not family lines. Have some regard to his privacy, for _Merlin’s_ sake!”

There was a beat of silence before Weasley spoke up, “Well, _I’m_ a Pureblood!”

The conversation started up again, and Harry gave Neville an appreciative smile before turning to talk between themselves as they tried furiously to ignore the conversation around them. It wasn’t long until the plates emptied once more and the attention of everyone was drawn to Dumbledore, who had moved around the table to stand before a golden podium with owls decorating it.

“Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” Dumbledore’s eyes swept the room. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils, while a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Harry snickered alongside Neville as Dumbledore’s eyes settled on the pair of red-haired twins at their table.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, our caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” At this, Dumbledore gestured to an odd-looking man with wild eyes that was lurking at the side of the hall cradling a cat.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madame Hooch.” At this, Dumbledore turned to gesture to a severe-looking woman with short, spiky silver hair.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry and Neville both scoffed but paused when very few others on the table did.

“He’s mad – this is a school!” Harry whispered to Neville, who likewise was looking around with wide eyes.

“How many do you think will end up trying to check it out?”

“Too many.” Harry groaned.

“Now, I believe it’s late enough and you all have busy days ahead of you tomorrow. Please follow your Prefects to your dormitories.”

At that, every student in the hall rose to their feet as one, with the murmuring noise of whispered conversations, while the Prefects themselves called out for houses to follow them.

He followed the crowd of Gryffindor’s out of the hall and up the great marble staircase. As he walked alongside Neville, he felt his eyes beginning to droop and he stifled a yawn behind his hand. Despite his tiredness, he did take the time to note the figures waving to them politely from their portraits.

A number of staircases and corridors later, they came to a halt at a portrait of a large woman in a garishly pink silk dress.

“Password?” He heard her ask one of the Prefects at the front of the mass of students.

“Caput Draconis.” Someone said, causing the portrait to swing forward to reveal an entryway large enough for two adults to stand side-by-side.

Everyone scrambled through it, eager to reach their beds. It had, after all been a long day, full of excitement and good food.

The room they stepped into was large and circular, with large glass windows high up on one wall that allowed the pale moonlight to spill into the room. The fireplace was already roaring, bathing the large room in a comfortable heat, and large plush sofa’s and armchairs surrounded it. There were little tables hidden away in various nooks and crannies where he could see himself working on his assignments quite contentedly.

There were four large staircases, with two on each side of the room, splitting in opposite directions.

“First year girls are up this staircase here – you’ll find your belongings and such already in your rooms. Each dorm has a common space for studying and a shared bathroom, while each of you have individual rooms branching from that room. Boys are _not_ permitted into the girl’s dormitories – there are Wards in place that make it impossible and the staff will be notified if you attempt it.” A girl’s voice called out. Immediately, the girls scrambled for the staircase.

“First year boys, your quarters are up the opposite stairs. You all have the same set-up. Everyone else, you already know where your beds are. Get to bed, everyone!” The same boy that had given the password called.

Everyone shuffled off, breaking away in their own directions. Neville and he both found themselves circling the tower twice before they came to a small landing with their names on golden plaques outside a simple wooden door.

Harry looked to his friend when he noted the other names on the plaque. Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas and _Ronald Weasley_. Both shuddered a little – thank _Merlin_ for the separate rooms.

They opened the door to find a comfortable looking common room, with a number of tables and chairs dotted around. There were portraits that hung proudly, no doubt men and women who had once lived in this set of rooms and had distinguished themselves somehow in history.

His attention was drawn to the doors that branched off from the small room, which in itself wasn’t very large to begin with.

“Neville, yours is here!” He grinned, as he eyed the room next to his own. Neville opened the door, and over his shoulder Harry could see all of his belongings had been delivered and neatly put away.

“Let’s see yours, Harry!” Neville grinned. Harry just rolled his eyes.

“You just want to see Clara.”

“You’re right, I do.” Neville grinned cheekily as he opened Harry’s door.

There, perched beside the bed on her golden perch was none other than his Phoenix familiar as she preened the feathers on her left wing before she gave herself a quick shake.

Harry rushed to the bed, looking for a particular part of the support by the headboard of the four-poster-bed.

“Can you find it? Have you got it?”

Harry grinned as his fingers found the initials: _J.C.P_

Harry had his fathers bed – this was going the be the best year _ever_.


	11. Harry V

Harry groaned and rolled over in his bed as sunlight filtered in through his window at the side of his bed. The heavy quilt was soft against his back and legs as he attempted to bury himself further into the soft mattress.

It was a few moments later that a familiar weight landed on his back. He groaned and squirmed a little as the familiar feeling of sharp talons poked and prodded him through the material that covered him.

“G’way, Clara…” He mumbled sleepily, waving a tired arm behind him. He only managed a single feeble swipe before the arm dropped to his side heavily.

There was a series of gentle taps against the back of his exposed head – harmless, but increasingly annoying.

He scrunched his eyes tighter and made a feeble groan of protest.

“Clara…” He muttered, frowning into the soft cotton of his red pillows.

There was a lengthy pause before another, single tap echoed in his skull.

He opened his eyes slowly and glared at the bird perched on his chest – he thought she looked far too smug for his liking – at least this early in the day. Despite her avian nature, there were times when she seemed far too _human_ – and he definitely recognised that mischievous glint in her black eyes.

“Don’t you fuc-“ Harry began as he pointed a finger in his familiar’s direction. She tapped him again.

He jumped out of bed; his hands outstretched as he scrambled to get a hold of the bird. “Come here, you bloody pompous chicken!”

With two powerful flaps of her wings, Clara was in the air and gliding back to her perch. Harry, in his haste to follow, kicked his legs from the bed and leapt to his feet as the quilt pooled around him on the floor.

He took a step forward, a menacing glare on his face that would put even Daphne’s to shame, only to cry out in alarm as he tipped forwards and groaned as he lay in a crumpled heap. Clara gave a quiet trill of amusement before she circled the room in her own victory lap before landing on her perch once more.

As he lay there, contemplating his defeat and staring up at the ceiling, he let out a quiet sigh as his mind began to clear of the sleepy haze that had encompassed it only moments before.

The memories of the previous night danced through his mind, and he found himself smiling at the images in his mind’s eye. There had been the journey on the train, the trip across the lake, the sorting and the feast! If he closed his eyes, he could remember every smell of the cooked foods – he could feel the fresh air on his face out on the lake, and even feel the coarse material of the seat on the train.

He groaned as he pushed himself to his elbows and glared at his familiar. The glorified pigeon was staring at him unblinkingly, her hooked black beak glinting in the early morning light. He pushed himself onto his hands and took in the dark grey of his nightshirt that clung to his skin with a frown.

He had woken up in a panic again last night – it had been months since his last night terror. It had felt so real, so visceral. He could feel the smooth stone of the cobbled road, the sound of the spells flying past his head in every direction, the heat of the flames as Clara forced her maturity to protect him.

Even now, the cries of pain from those long dead echoed in his ears as he breathed deeply. The time since the battle had been time well spent. He had begun to use a blade under the instruction of a tutor that Arcturus had hired, and he was pleased with the steady progress he had been making.

His tutor, a woman named Kina Parren – a member of a minor family sworn to the service of House Black, had begun instructing him not long after their initial return. She had been ruthless in her teaching, not afraid to throw his arse to the dirt to prove a point. They had begun with daggers; the small blade had become a constant fixture on either his belt or in his boot ever since.

The sword had become a part of his training after two months of lessons three times a week. It had taken some getting used to, with the long blade and the increased weight as opposed to a dagger – especially with his own limited size, but he had persevered.

Kina had become even more punishing in her drills. For hours, he would repeat the same movements, drilling the repeat motions into his subconscious with her barking voice and rough shoving. Outside of the training, she was a soft spoken and had a kind smile – the second they each hefted their training blades, that persona was replaced by a gruff, loud and seemingly angry young woman. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had one or two nightmares about _her_.

He scrambled to his feet, the bare flesh slapping against the smooth floorboards with each shuffle as he extricated himself from the mound of duvet. With a final tug, he stumbled backwards into one of the chest of drawers that lined the walls of the small room. He turned quickly and snatched at the wobbling black-iron candle stick that threatened to topple over.

He let out a small sigh as he looked about the room – besides the mess of his bed and Clara, who now had her head ducked beneath a wing as she preened herself. He had spent some time, after showing Neville the carving of his fathers initials, sorting his belongings into the various drawers, chests and along the occasional shelf to make it into something resembling a home – a refuge from the chaos of the days where he could relax.

His clothes were all folded and stored by item – he was absolutely convinced Lispy would pop into the room and bend him over her knee if he didn’t abide by her system, and his boots were neatly lined by the door next to a small hamper that he assumed was for washing.

Gathering the quilt in his arms, he threw it on the bed and quickly tidied it – tugging at little creases and making sure everything was straight. While he was aware of the House Elves of Hogwarts, thanks to Sirius and Remus’s many tales of their adventures, he refused to give them any more work than he absolutely had to.

With the bed straightened, he went about gathering his toiletries and a fresh change of clothes. He had no idea if anyone else was awake, but with the bloody chicken having woken him up, he knew going back to bed – regardless of the time, would be impossible.

He paused as he pulled a fresh tunic from a draw by the window as his eye caught something he hadn’t noticed in the darkness of the night. Quickly placing the items in his hands down atop the furniture, he moved to the window and lifted the large metal latch and pulled the frame towards him. It didn’t open large enough for a human to fit through – for obvious reasons, but it was large enough for something smaller.

He looked over his shoulder and raised his brow at Clara expectantly. “Come on then, I assume this is why you’re so insufferable this morning.”

Clara hopped across the room slowly. He knew she was doing it on purpose because she could have easily crossed the room in a glide from her perch. He rolled his eyes at her smug countenance as she hopped up onto the ledge where she shuffled side to side for a moment. With a smirk on his face, he closed the window with a little force that shoved her from the ledge in an undignified squawk.

There was a quick burst of flame after a moment, and he winced as he felt Clara appear behind him. He turned slowly as she hovered in the air, her wings beating in a steady rhythm as she glared at him. Her eyes held a challenging glint to them as she lifted her beak a little higher. There was a dull thud across the top of his head as she caught him _purposefully_ with her right wing before she burst into flame once again. He pouted as he rubbed at his skull.

Gathering his clothes under his arm, he grumbled about lazy familiars and stupid windows. Harry snatched at a towel that he’d set aside the previous night and shuffled from the room. He left his coat – that he’d noticed had the red of Gryffindor lining the inside, hanging by the door. There was no need to be dragging it into the bathroom with him.

The small common area was empty, the chairs and small tables all with the red of Gryffindor or the golden lion incorporated in their design somehow. There was a large recessed window that matched the curve of the tower that stretched for a few metres above his, Neville’s and Seamus’s doors.

He padded over the plush crimson rug with golden patterning and shouldered the door to the shared bathroom open.

The white marble tiles caught the light from the small window and reflected it easily enough, illuminating the room nicely. Along the far wall were the five separate shower stalls, while an equal number of private toilets sat opposite – their thin wooden doors shut. Along the wall closest to him were a number of sinks, each with bronze coloured faucets and a mirror above them. Like with the tiles of the room, the porcelain of the sinks was white and seemed to sparkle in the early morning light.

He moved along the row to the far stall and laid out his clothes in a small area between the door and the shower curtain, hanging what he could, while the rest was laid neatly in an efficient pile on a small white stool. He arranged the pile sensibly – his breeches on the bottom, then his socks and on top was his underwear. His hung his tunic on a hook on the door, while his boots sat below it. The towel he draped over a second hook along the wall by the curtain.

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, grimacing as the still damp material almost peeled off of him and slapped against the floor. Next were his pyjamas, which thankfully were far more pleasant to remove.

Stepping behind the curtain, he brushed the rune with his thumb, sighing as the warm water cascaded over his body. He stood there for a time, just allowing the water to sooth his cramped muscles in his shoulders and neck.

A small sigh whispered past his lips as he pushed the hair from his face, the thick locks of his hair plastering themselves to him wherever they fell. Blinking the water from his eyes, he brushed another rune, and began washing both his hair and body. Whatever soap the water was charmed with, it smelled of strawberries and practically vanished any tension that remained in his body. He could get used to this.

He rinsed himself quickly before shutting the water off. He threw the curtain open and palmed the towel from the hook before throwing it over his head. He rubbed at his dark hair and face, scrubbing away what water he could.

Harry moved methodically down his body before laying it down on the floor before the stool. He quickly went about drying his toes before pulling on clean underwear and breeches. The tunic came next – it was baggy, but as he tucked it away, it began to conform to his figure a little more. The light material was breathable and in an off-white colour that complimented his dark boots, breeches and coat.

He opened the door once he was dressed and gathered his washing in the towel on the floor before rolling it up. With towel-turned-bag in hand, and his left hand running through his damp and wild hair, Harry moved to return to his room – noting how there was still no sign of his classmates. Perhaps Clara had woken him too early? If she had, he’d make sure to contact Sirius to plan the appropriate revenge.

With a sigh, he placed the towel and dirty laundry into the hamper and moved to his small bedside table. On it were a few things – namely his wand, a few leather ties for his hair, a book on charms he had perused a little before falling asleep and a large sheet of parchment that had been folded a number of times in different directions.

Grasping his wand, he muttered a pair of incantations under his breath. The first, required him to move his wand in a clockwise spiral around his head, with the tip pointed towards the floor. He smiled to himself as he felt the magic dry his hair, give it a little volume, and brush away the knots painlessly. The second required a sharp upwards flick of his wrist with the tip pointed at his mouth. Once the small rush of magic disappeared, he ran his tongue over his teeth – there was a distinct hint of spearmint on his tongue.

With his hair dry, Harry snatched up one of the leather ties from the table and tied his hair in a comfortably loose knot at the back of his head, grumbling as a few strands came loose, though he didn’t bother to fix them. Next was his long-sleeved black doublet with the lion of Gryffindor on the breast beside the wolf of Potter that he had placed on his bed as he had gathered his clothes for his morning shower.

His arms threaded into the sleeves comfortably, the hem just slightly past his wrists. The material was soft and smooth against his fingertips as he tied the leather fasteners down his front with deft fingers. He quickly strapped his wand-holster, with his wand already placed inside it, against his right forearm before pulling the fabric of his sleeve over it.

All that remained was his coat, the fine black dragon leather garment cinched around his waist with a tan-coloured leather belt. Normally, the belt would hold his dagger, but as it was a school, he decided that in his time here, it would remain sheathed in his right boot.

He looked at himself for a moment in the wall-length mirror on the other side of the door to the hamper. He tugged at any perceived wrinkles or flaws in his appearance – Arcturus would accept nothing less than perfection in his appearance.

With one final rallying breath, he nodded to himself and picked up his satchel from the hook on the door.

As he stepped into the small common area, he noticed Neville sitting on one of the wooden chairs looking a little bored. Neville did happen to perk up as he stepped into view, however.

“Harry! About time you showed up. I was beginning to think you’d stay in there for the rest of the day trying to make yourself look pretty.”

Harry snorted as he moved across the room and took in Neville’s appearance. Much like himself, Neville wore the traditional robes of Hogwarts students, though his doublet held the bear of Longbottom. Neville’s face was clean, which was a rarity in itself considering the boy’s love of plants, and his brown mop of hair looked glossy and clean.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to be presentable, Longbottom.” Harry sniffed, winking as his friend rolled his eyes and followed him out the door with his own satchel over a shoulder.

“There’s presentable, and then there’s the level you take it to, Potter.” Neville replied as they began the spiral down the steps.

“Were any of the others awake?” He asked as they walked lazily through the empty common room – besides the half dozen sleeping cats in front of the fire, of course.

“I didn’t see anyone. I don’t think it’s long past seven in any event – they have plenty of time.” Neville shrugged as they stepped through the portrait.

The inside of the castle looked _vastly_ different in the daylight. They were in one of the large square towers he’d seen on the lake, with staircases leading to all sorts of corridors and doors – though a quick glance over the railing told him they were on the seventh floor.

What was a really marvellous sight though, were the staircases themselves, moving this way and that as the few students that were awake moved up and down them. Neville grimaced over his shoulder as he took in the sight for himself.

“I forgot we were so high up.” He groaned, “It’s times like this I’m going to wish I’d been placed in Hufflepuff or, _Gods forbid_ , Slytherin. No safer place to be than on the floor.”

Harry chuckled and slapped Neville on the arm. “House of the brave, remember? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

With that, they made their way down the staircases to the ground floor. They passed an untold number of portraits in their descent – all in various stages of alertness. One particular portrait of a group of old men were busy shooing a knight in full steel plate swinging a sword at invisible enemies away from their table of cards.

With their feet firmly on the ground floor of Hogwarts, Neville visibly relaxed – his shoulders, which had been tense throughout their short journey, slumped in relief. It took no time at all to retrace the previous night’s footsteps to the Great Hall.

The doors were wide open this morning and seemed even larger than they had the night before. The ceiling was no longer bewitched, and the sheer _emptiness_ of the room was astounding. Along all of the tables, there were only perhaps two dozen students, all in various states of alertness – one boy, who appeared to be a fifth year, barely caught himself from pitching forward into his porridge.

Harry’s eyes swept the Slytherin table and caught sight of the long, dark hair he was looking for. He gently tapped Neville on the shoulder and pointed in Daphne’s direction as the two of them gave her an enthusiastic wave and grin.

It seemed she had seen them, not that they were hard to miss, all things considered. With a short wave of her own, a roll of her eyes and a smirk, she stood up and moved to join them – a dark haired girl with shoulder-length hair joining her a moment later.

Harry and Neville sat themselves down at the Gryffindor table as they placed their satchels on the floor either side of them. Daphne and the new addition slid in gracefully opposite them.

“Harry, Neville, meet Tracey Davis. Tracey, these are the idiots.”

Harry and Neville both grinned cheekily at the blue-eyed witch.

“Now why would you say something cruel like that?” Harry asked, clutching a hand to his heart.

“That was positively slanderous, was that.” Neville added, holding the back of his right hand to his forehead as he leaned back dramatically.

Tracey giggled shyly and offered the two of them her hand to shake. Unlike the three of them, she was attired in the Muggle-born uniform. “Pleased to meet you both.”

Neville and Harry shook her hand with no hesitation. If Daphne was introducing her, they trusted her – Daphne had an instinct about people that was down-right _terrifying_ at times.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Harry began as he placed a small assortment of fruit and crispy bacon on his plate. “how do you know Daphne?”

Tracey shifted in her seat a little. “We share a dorm. We met last night after the sorting.”

“Well, you’ll find no better friend than our Daphne.” Neville smiled before taking a bite from a red apple. Daphne smiled at the praise, and he was _positive_ he could spot the faintest hint of red on her cheekbones – though when he looked closer, it was gone.

“So, excited to start your day?” Harry asked, his eyes on the two girls opposite him. Daphne, he knew, was excited despite her cool exterior. Tracey, on the other hand, was barely keeping herself from bouncing up and down on the bench.

“I can’t _wait_!” She grinned as she clapped her hands together. “What do you think will be our first class? Oh, I hope it’s Charms! I heard Professor Flitwick is brilliant!”

Harry grinned at her enthusiasm, though it was a stark contrast next to Daphne – never in his wildest dreams could Harry picture his friend acting like Tracey.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of them, though the two Slytherins returned to their own tables when more students began to filter into the room. With their plates long since emptied, the two remaining Gryffindors turned to one another for entertainment until Professor McGonagall arrived.

The older woman stood over them as she cleared her throat. Both Harry and Neville jumped a little at the noise and looked over their shoulders with a light pink staining their cheeks.

Harry darted to his feet as he saw the Professor, though the sound of his knees catching the table did cause him to wince and bite on his lower lip for a moment. Neville, likewise, got to his feet.

They both offered the older witch small bows, while her eyes twinkled with amusement. “I trust, Mr. Potter, that you found your accommodation most suitable?”

Harry paused for a moment. “It was, Professor – I mean, that is to say, it _is_ most suitable… Professor.” Harry winced at the words.

“Good, I would hate for you to have been disappointed. Your Godfather passed along your hope that you would be assigned to it.”

“You and Sirius…?” Harry gasped, his jaw dropping slightly. He’d made a passing mention of it years ago, but he had never thought Sirius would contact the _school_!

“Indeed. In any event, I came to offer the both of you your timetables for the year.” Professor McGonagall said, handing the both of them a piece of parchment each.

“Thank you, Professor.” Neville replied, his smile still a little nervous at having been caught unawares by the emerald-robed witch.

McGonagall nodded once and then moved further down the table as more and more students started sitting down. The two of them sunk to the bench quickly, their eyes scanning the contents in their hands.

They had five one-hour lessons a day – three classes in a morning, followed by an hour’s lunch, with two lessons in the afternoon. Then, they would have a three-hour period for study and research before the evening meal was served at six. Another two hours of free time would see them through until curfew was called in the castle at nine.

As it was a Monday, their first lesson would be _Introduction to Magic_ with Professor Selket, followed by _Transfiguration_ with Professor McGonagall and his first Elective, _Magical Languages_ with Professor Dots. They would have an hour for lunch before they went on to _Basic Healing_ with Madame Pomfrey and to end the day they had…

“Oh, _Merlin_.” Harry groaned as he wiped a hand down his face. He had forgotten about this class.

“What’s wrong?” Neville asked, frowning as he looked up from the parchment.

“We’ve got _Care of Familiars_ last.”

“So?”

“I might have pushed her out of a window this morning.” Harry muttered slowly, his eyes finding an absolutely _fascinating_ spot of varnish on the table.

“You _what_?” Neville gasped, his eyes bulging wide.

“Hey, _she_ started it!”

“What do you mean _‘she started it’?_ ”

Harry groaned pitifully and leaned his head on his folded arms atop the table. “She woke me up by tapping on my head. Repeatedly. She wanted me to open the window for her, even though she didn’t _need_ me to.”

“Who didn’t need ye to, Harry?” Seamus Finnegan asked, his thick Irish accent causing Harry to momentarily wince from within the comfort of his arms. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.

“Familiar troubles.” Neville chuckled. Harry scowled at him.

“We’ve all been there, mate.” Ronald Weasley said as he patted Harry on the shoulder sympathetically. Seamus and Dean had sat down opposite the two of them, while Ronald had taken the seat next to Harry.

“What could be wrong with it?” Dean asked, the tall, dark skinned boy asked. Upon first meeting him last night, just before they had gone to bed, Harry had decided he quite liked the boy. He was polite, well spoken and had a brilliantly sarcastic sense of humour.

“She’s a bloody git, is what she is.” Harry grumbled, earning a scoff from the Muggle-born.

“Careful Harry, she might hear you.” Neville winked.

“Hear him? What do you mean?” Ronald asked, a fat sausage already impaled on his fork. Harry shrugged.

“She’ll come if I call her name, is all.”

“I didn’t know ye had a dog, Potter.” Seamus grinned excitedly. “What kind is it? Is it a big or a small one?”

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She’s not a dog, she’s a bloody oversized pigeon.”

“How long have you been bonded with her?” Ronald asked as he reached a free hand into a pocket on his robe. “I got Scabbers over Summer. Percy had him before me. He’s bloody useless.”

At this, Harry’s eyes were drawn to the brown garden rat in his hand. Its nose twitched this way and that, and its beady black eyes seemed to focus unnaturally on Harry for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he could have _sworn_ something hadn’t been quite right. He shrugged – it was probably nothing.

“I bonded with her about two years ago on a trip.” He replied, giving himself a little shake as he tore his eyes from the rodent.

“Two _years_?” Seamus gasped. “I ‘eard most kids get theirs from Diagon Alley!”

“Most do, but you’re not limited to there. I found Trevor in the Magical District in Cardiff.” Neville smiled.

“What do you two have?” Harry asked, eager to divert attention away from the bloody hook-nosed peacock.

“I have a cat called Bishop. I named him after the captain of West Ham.” Dean grinned.

“Mine’s a Barn Owl called Ava.” Seamus smiled.

Harry noted that Ron was eyeing his Rat nervously. “Say, you don’t think they’d go for Scabbers, do you?”

Neville snickered, “I’d be surprised – familiars tend to ignore other familiars they would otherwise regard as prey. Something in the magic, I think.”

Ronald let out a breath as he slumped a little in relief and Harry chuckled to himself.

Professor McGonagall returned a short time later, handing each of their dorm-mate’s similar pieces of parchment before swiftly moving on. There was a quiet moment as those around him gazed at their lesson plans.

“Wahey, free period before lunch!” Ron cheered, his grin barely holding the food in his mouth from hitting the table.

“You have a free period? What were your Electives?” Neville asked, surprised.

“Oh, I just chose Alchemy. I’m no good with languages – I leave that kind of thing to Percy.” Ronald shrugged, nodding his head over towards a tall, skinny boy with curly red hair that Harry recognised as one of the Prefects.

“I assume he’s a brother?” Harry asked slowly.

Ronald nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of food. “Oh yeah. There’s seven of us! Bill’s the oldest and is working as a Curse-Breaker in Egypt for Gringotts. Then there’s Charlie – he graduated last year and has gone off to Romania to work on the Dragon Reserves. Then Percy, the twins; Fred and George. Then there’s me, and Ginny should be coming next year.”

“That’s quite the family, Ronald.” He murmured, blinking several times as his brain struggled to imagine that many children in one house.

“Call me Ron.” The boy smiled easily.

“I can manage that.” Harry smiled in return. He was about to ask after Ron’s oldest brother – Bill, if Harry remembered the name correctly, when the sound of a large bell echoed slowly throughout the hall. Students rose as one, gathering their bags and slinging them over their shoulders.

“Come on, that’s the bell for first class. Best get a move on.” Neville murmured in his ear as they both stood with the crowd.

* * *

 _Introduction To Magic_ was the first class of the day, located in a room on the second floor on the north-side of the castle. The room was spacious and cosy, though Harry noted the distinct lack of any tables and chairs.

The class was larger than he had expected. Sirius and Remus had told him the classes were often large for the core subjects, but he had expected two houses to a class – not all four. The boys and girls of his year shuffled awkwardly as they awaited their teacher.

Harry took the opportunity to allow his eyes the chance to take in the room, strange bags on the floor and all. The walls were the same unadorned stonework that made up the rest of the castle, though there were a small handful of bookshelves dotted around the edge – all were stacked with untold numbers of books and tomes.

Sunlight filtered in through a series of windows on the far wall, and the smell of incense wafted through the air. The combination of the warm lighting and the smell of jasmine helped to make the entire room warm and relaxing.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply for a moment, simply basking in the smell. Beside him, Neville did the same – it seems this teacher, whoever they were, had two fans already.

The sound of heels clacking against the stone floor of the hallway outside caused him to turn slowly, watching as a woman with auburn hair and blue eyes entered the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

She was tall and dressed in light-blue robes and her hair hung loose at the back of her head. Her hair was wavy, rather than straight and shimmered in the sunlight.

Her complexion was pale, but not unhealthily so, with just the hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose and a pleasant smile on her lips.

“Good morning class, and welcome to your first lesson here at Hogwarts.” She called out as she walked to the front of the class. “My name is Professor Selket, and in this class I’ll be instructing you in how to control and harness your magic.”

Harry looked at her expectantly as her gaze swept the class.

“Now, how about you all take a seat on the beanbags, hmm? I find them much better suited to meditation than tables and chairs.”

Harry moved to the side of the room closest to the bookshelves, the smell of musty parchment and old books mingling pleasantly with the jasmine in the air. He could enjoy this class very much.

Neville followed along a step behind him, plonking himself down on the bag next to him. Daphne and Tracey appeared over his shoulder while the bushy-haired girl – Hermione, sat down carefully on a bag in front of him. The brief glimpse of her face he had seen as she carefully put her bag down at her side couldn’t help but make him think she seemed a little put out he had snagged the seat closest to the books.

He shrugged to himself as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his coat.

“Harry,” Neville whispered as he leaned over to him. Harry looked at his friend, an eyebrow raised curiously. “If I fall asleep, kick me if I start to snore.” Neville grinned.

Harry couldn’t help but smile as Professor Selket’s voice called out once again. “Now that you’re all settled and comfortable, I understand that there’s a disparity among the class common in all years.”

She began pacing the room slowly, her hands clasped at the small of her back. “Unfortunately, because of the nature of how many of you were raised, that leaves those of you who were Muggle-born or Muggle-raised to be a little behind your peers.”

Murmuring broke out among the Muggle-born.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry – nobody is at fault in this situation. It’s unfortunately a harsh reminder that our two societies are separated. For example, I’m sure many of you raised in the Muggle-world had episodes of _Accidental Magic_?” The Professor asked, her blue eyes sweeping across those in the Muggle-born uniforms slowly. All nodded slowly, besides one or two.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Professor Selket smiled kindly, her voice soothing. “Wizarding families will often teach their children control very early on to avoid these episodes. As a result, the first weeks at Hogwarts are often easier for them as they’re already familiar with the feel of their magic.”

She took a deep breath, and Harry found himself sinking into the seat a little more.

“That’s what this class is for – together, we’ll spend the year teaching you _all_ different methods of becoming familiar with your magic, how to control it, and most importantly, how to _trust_ it.”

The sea of heads nodded slowly.

“Now, does anyone know the most common method?”

Hermione’s hand shot up in front of him.

“Yes, my dear. What’s your name?”

“Hermione Granger, miss.” Hermione replied confidently. At Professor Selket’s nod, she continued, “Meditation, Professor.”

“Excellent, take five points for Gryffindor.” The Professor beamed.

The Gryffindors in the room gave a quiet cheer, with Harry and Neville clapping their hands together. Harry turned to look over his shoulder at Daphne and gave her a playful wink. They may be friends – the closest of friends, but it was an unspoken rule to be smug about the winning of house points. Daphne rolled her eyes playfully.

“As Miss Granger said, Meditation is the most common method. Other ways include methods such as subjecting the body to great stress, exercise, as well as a handful of other, less savoury methods.” The Professor said, noting each one down on the board at the front of the class with her wand.

“Now, it is my hope that you shall all become familiar with your magic through meditation – as such, there will be a regular homework for you each night to meditate a little before going to bed. The more you explore, the stronger that connection will be.”

The Professor swept her eyes over the class as she clasped her hands before her. “Now, who can tell me of the different _types_ of magic? Anyone?”

Harry raised his hand, Hermione’s in front of him just a blink behind.

“Ah, yes. Your name, my boy?”

“Potter, Professor. Harry Potter.”

There was a moment of silence as the Professor took in his appearance before she shook herself slightly. “Sorry, continue, Mr. Potter.”

“There are several types of magic, Professor. There’s _Wild Magic_ , that is found in all living things, including Muggles and is what we use mostly. There’s also _Ritual Magic_ and _Familial Magic_.”

“Excellent, Mr. Potter. Five points!”

Harry grinned at Neville. He could hear Daphne scoff behind him and resisted the urge to chuckle.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter is correct. While we won’t be exploring Ritual or Familial magic in this class, it is important for you to know of them and be aware of them for your _Magical Theory_ class later in the week.” Professor Selket smiled before clapping her hands together. “Now, I want you all to close your eyes, take a deep breath and get comfortable. Anyone falling asleep will find themselves losing house points.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He knew the feel of his magic and had been wrestling it under control for years. It was wild and untamed. Seductive and yearning to be released, to bend the world to his desires – despite how much tamer it was before his experience with The Council.

He found it quickly, a writhing mass of magic that he kept firmly under control. Unlike before, as he caressed it, it seemed to almost go docile. No longer was it banging on the gates of his control, always in the back of his mind. In all the years since he had first been taught by Remus in how to manage his magic, how to _feel_ it, never had it felt so submissive to his wishes.

It was calm at his touch, warm but _powerful_. He smiled at the thought of working in tandem with it over the coming weeks and months for the first time in his life. In all his years, he had only ever allowed the tiniest trickle to seep through – activating a rune or summoning something across a room. There were so many possibilities.

With the smell of jasmine and old parchment, the warmth of the early morning light and the suppleness of the beanbag against his back, Harry thought he could enjoy this class very much indeed.

* * *

 _Transfiguration_ was held in a classroom on the ground floor of Hogwarts on the western side of the school. The room was large and airy and was a stark difference from the previous classroom, with only the occasional cabinet holding everyday items lining the sides.

Rows and rows of chairs and desks lined the length of the room in three rows, with a single large desk and chalkboard at the front.

Upon their arrival, the room was absent of any teacher besides a small grey and black cat that was perched on the desk and peered at the students filtering into the room.

The gong of the school bell echoed throughout the room, the large wooden doors booming shut behind him as the last of the students entered. Harry slid into a seat next to Neville halfway down the far-left row, with Daphne taking up the seat across the aisle with Tracey. Ron and Seamus sat behind him, while Dean and a Hufflepuff took up the bench behind them.

Hermione, he noted, had gravitated to the far side of the room with another Gryffindor girl. He chuckled a little to himself as he saw her extract book after book, quill after quill and place them on her desk. How did she fit so many in her bag?

“Where do you think ol’ McGonagall is?” Ron whispered behind him.

Both he and Neville shrugged at the question, keeping their heads turned to their bags as they pulled their own books and parchment out. The tome for first year Transfiguration was a thick volume, with a fine leather cover with a gold embossed wand on the front. It had been one of Harry’s favourite books to read over the Summer, swallowing entire chapters of it in an evening.

He looked towards the desk as he put the bag down on the floor by his feet, careful not to jostle it too much – he’d hate to damage any of his other books with his carelessness.

The cat stood lazily, before it leapt off the desk and morphed into the form of Minerva McGonagall. Harry gaped as the room gasped collectively. He had no idea she was an _Animagus_!

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall.” The class replied as one.

“Welcome to first year Transfiguration. In this class, you will learn how to change the shape and appearance of inanimate objects, and later animals to serve various purposes. Are there any questions so far?”

A student in the middle row raised their hand slowly, and Professor McGonagall nodded at him. “Are we going to learn to transform like that?”

The emerald-clad professor’s lips quirked a little at the question. “No, I should think it unlikely. The Animagus transformation is a difficult and arduous process that few can achieve for various reasons – not to mention, it can be quite unsafe to do so. Any other questions?”

A few hands went up in the air.

“That _aren’t_ related to Animagi?”

The hands went down.

“Very well. I believe you have all just finished your _Introduction to Magic_ class?” She asked the room at large, receiving a sea of nods. Harry had his parchment out and his quill ready to be dipped in ink to take notes.

“Excellent. In that case, I want you all to open your textbooks and copy the first chapter word-for-word. Afterwards, we shall discuss as a class the importance of safety when performing Transfiguration, and magic as a whole.”

Harry nodded to himself as the class groaned quietly. His book was open a second later, with his quill already dipped in a light coating of black ink. The scratching of quills against parchment accompanied his methodical notes for the rest of the lesson as he tried to take everything in.

* * *

“Welcome to _Magical Languages_ , class. I’m Professor Jaran Dots.” The kindly looking older man smiled as everyone found their seats.

Professor Dots wore a simple tunic and breeches under a leather coat that stretched down to his mid-thigh. His hair was shoulder-length and silver and was parted neatly in the middle. The lower half of his face was covered in a well-trimmed beard, and his brown eyes were warm and friendly.

All around the room, which was located on the sixth floor, just a short few minutes’ walk from Gryffindor Tower, were large framed phrases in a variety of languages that he didn’t recognise. Some appeared to be alphabets, while others appeared to be short paragraphs.

 _Magical Languages_ was the first of his Electives, and as a result, the class was much smaller than his previous two. Many wizards and witches didn’t put much stock in learning other languages – even if they were other _human_ languages, but Harry thought that notion was idiotic at best.

Why would you limit yourself to your mother language, particularly in a society whose economy was ran by an entirely different species? Not only that, but it was a matter of politeness – he understood that English was the _Lingua Franca_ of both Magical and Mundane societies, so why not meet the being opposite you in the middle and speak in their tongue?

The whole thing baffled him to no end.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone in the class – both Neville and Daphne sat on either side of him, with Tracey taking a seat next to Neville this time. She seemed like a nice girl, if a little excitable at times – though he could see why Daphne liked her. She was intelligent, quick-witted and seemed the kind sort.

He was glad that Daphne had found another girl to be friends with – _Merlin_ himself knew just how much he and Neville would drive her up the wall with their boyish _boorishness_ , as she often put it.

The shuffling and scraping of chairs quietened, and Professor Dots clapped his hands before him and rubbed them together with a grin on his face.

“Now, I see you’ve all got your textbooks out, excellent, excellent. First of all, does anyone in here speak any other language? Muggle or Magical, either is fine.”

Hermione raised her hand and Professor Dots nodded excitedly at her.

“I speak French, Professor.”

“ _Ah, le langage de l'amour. Comment est ton accent_?” The Professor replied – whatever he was saying was completely lost to Harry.

“ _Un peu rude, mais passable dans la plupart des domaines, me dit-on_.” Hermione answered, her shoulders shrugging easily as she finished.

“Excellent pronunciation, my dear. French is a wonderful language, and I commend you for learning it – five points to Gryffindor.”

Harry turned to Daphne, who was sat to his right, and grinned. “Better start answering questions, or there’ll be no competition for the House Cup.” He whispered.

Daphne rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. He fought the urge to wince. Her elbow was _sharp_.

“Now, what languages do you think you’ll learn in this class, hmm?”

Daphne’s hand shot into the air before he could blink.

“Aqosa?” She asked when the Professor pointed to her.

“Excellent! The language of the Dwarves! Two points! Anyone else?”

Daphne looked decidedly smug as he looked at her. He’d deserved that, he supposed.

“Lubian? The Giant’s language?” A blonde-haired Ravenclaw asked as he lowered his hand.

Professor Dot clapped excitedly – it seemed despite his seemingly advancing age, the man was still every bit as giddy about teaching as he must have been as a young man. Harry smiled at the sight – if this was how the rest of his lessons would go, he could enjoy it very much.

“Excellent – it’s the language often most forgotten! Two points for Ravenclaw, young lady! Any others?”

A few hands went up, and the Professor made a point of slowly waving his hand back and forth indecisively before settling on a dark-skinned Hufflepuff boy at the front of the class.

“Itopeti?”

“Yes! The language of the Centaurs! Very well done – two points!”

“Gobbledegook?” Malfoy asked in a bored voice from the back of the room.

At the word, the Professor’s smile disappeared, and his countenance became stern. “Young man, I will not have you referring to the Goblin’s language in such a derogatory manner, am I understood? Five points from Slytherin for the use of the slur.”

The Slytherin’s in the room groaned and glared at the Malfoy heir. Draco seemed nonplussed and just shrugged in response.

“As to your intended question, yes – you will be learning _The Old Tongue_ , as it is properly called. In fact, this is the language we shall be beginning today! Everyone, to chapter one if you will!”

* * *

Lunch had been a quiet affair, with a light meal of chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Even now, as he walked to his fourth lesson of the day, he smiled a little at the feeling of the food in his belly. The meal had been fantastic, though he would be the first to admit to feeling a little groggy ever since – a nap after a meal was always welcomed, as far as he was concerned.

 _Basic Healing_ was a core subject taught in a small auditorium located off of the Medical Wing by Madame Pomfrey, the school’s resident Healer. He shouldered the large doors to the infirmary open and immediately his nose was assaulted with the sting of antiseptic and a concoction of potions – all of them no doubt tasting _nothing_ like they were supposed to.

It was a universal law, in Harry’s opinion, that if a medical potion was supposed to taste like strawberry, raspberry or any kind of fruit, that it would taste absolutely _nothing_ like it.

He stepped past the beds quickly, his boots clicking against the smooth marble tiles and echoing against the high ceiling. He was alone, and admittedly running a little late after a short stop at a bathroom along the way.

Thankfully, he was just in time as he stepped up to the plain wooden door and opened it quietly. It had been his hope that he could sneak in and get a seat in the back row if the lesson had already started. As it was, his dreams were dashed as Madame Pomfrey called his name.

“Mr. Potter, do you have a reason for your tardiness?”

“No, Madame – I just stopped at the bathroom on the way from the hall.”

The Healer appeared to be mulling the information over in her head for a moment before she finally gave a short nod and gestured for him to take a seat.

He did so, sliding into a bench in the tiered room next to a mousy-haired Ravenclaw boy. He nodded and offered a polite smile, which the boy returned, before he pulled his parchment, quill, ink and textbook out.

“Welcome to _Basic Healing_. As I am the only fully-trained Healer on-staff, I will be teaching you all how to perform basic first-aid on yourselves or others in the event that you are ever injured. Those of you who feel drawn to the Healing Arts will have the option to continue the subject to OWL and NEWT-level, in which event you will find yourself regularly assisting me in the Medical Wing. Any questions so far?”

The room was silent.

“Excellent. Now, as this is our first class, and we only meet once a week, we shall begin with studying the theory behind healing magic. Does anybody care to take a guess as to how you heal a broken bone?”

A number of hands went up, and Madame Pomfrey pointed to one of them. From Harry’s perch at the back of the room, even elevated as he was, he couldn’t see who she had chosen.

“If you understand how bones form, break and are made, the odds of you successfully repairing one are much higher.” Daphne’s voice called out. Harry grinned as his friend earned her house five points.

“Excellent answer, Miss…?”

“Greengrass, Madame. Daphne Greengrass.”

“As Miss Greengrass said, to heal something, you must understand it as best you can. Take a broken bone, if you heal it without understanding it, you run the risk of a fracture, or deformation in its shape. As a result of this, this class shall run on a two-week schedule.”

Madame Pomfrey raised her wand elegantly in her hand and uttered a spell. Bright light burst from the tip and began swilling before her. Slowly, the magic began to take shape – at first it was a pair of feet, then two calves and up and up the figure was formed, ending in the shape of a full-grown man that was semi-transparent.

The figure floated there, completely immobile with its arms out to the side slightly as a number of girlish giggles echoed throughout the room, accompanied by a few boyish snickers. It took him a moment to realise the figure was completely nude. Harry rolled his eyes, though the faint heat in his cheeks was hard to ignore.

“Yes, yes, get your amusement out of your system.” Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Now, if you’re all _quite_ finished?” She cleared her throat. “Now, as I was saying. We shall work in a two-week system. In one week, you shall cover theory and biology. In the second week, we’ll cover useful spells and continue rotating between the two.”

With a flick of her wand, the figure morphed into the skeletal structure of the human body.

“First, I shall teach you human anatomy. Once I believe we have covered it sufficiently, we shall look into Goblins, Dwarves and so on until the for you to choose your Electives.”

The room was silent as they all absorbed Madame Pomfrey’s words.

“I’ll take the resounding silence as a cue to move on with the lesson. Now, if you would all open your textbooks, we shall begin with the human skull.”

* * *

They had been released from Madame Pomfrey’s lesson a little earlier than the bell for their next lesson, as many students would have needed to rush back to their rooms to gather their familiars. Not all students had one, however.

As a result, he found himself stepping out of the classroom a little more lethargically than the rest of his fellow students, with his hands clasped easily at the small of his back, and his satchel hanging easily on his right shoulder.

The class would be taking place at the Groundskeeper’s Hut, as there was plenty of open at the foot of the hill it rested on – not to mention the access to the fresh air for both the students _and_ the animals.

 _Merlin_ , he hoped Clara would behave during the lesson. He loved her dearly, he really did – but he often couldn’t help but compare her to Sirius at times. She was playful and mischievous, and fiercely loyal to him, as he was to her.

Clara _adored_ attention, and he tried to give her as much as he possibly could – though she had given him the cold shoulder for a few days when he’d returned home with Hedwig. The two would argue and shunt each other every chance they got, both vying for his attention to the point he often had to physically separate the two.

Clara had size and a healthy number of flaming feathers – which thankfully had yet to set anything on fire, but Hedwig had enough attitude to make up for her shorter stature. No matter which he had brought to Hogwarts as his familiar, this class would have been a nightmare.

He stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, and he squinted up at the mountains on the far side of the Black Lake, which was only just visible above a dusting of trees thanks to the height of Hogwarts itself.

He turned right, and stepped around a number of older students who were returning from some lesson or another and began meandering his way down the path towards a long wooden bridge.

The bridge itself had a canopy to protect it from the elements, though the wind whistled loudly between the many periodic support struts on either side – though they had wonderfully intricate carvings and designs on them.

The lesson itself would take place on a generous stretch of flat land halfway down the hill. He made his way over and smiled to himself a little when he noticed the giant of a man from the day before already waiting with a huge dog at his side. The faint call of birds from the Forbidden Forest at the bottom of the hill punctuated the quiet with their songs.

“Ah, ‘Arry! Lovely to see ye!” The man called, grinning widely behind his bushy beard.

“Pleased to meet you too, Groundskeeper Hagrid.” Harry smiled back politely, bowing a little at the waist.

The Groundskeeper waved a large meaty fist dismissively. “I’ll ‘ave none o’ that now, ‘Arry. Ye can call me Hagrid. My, you’ve grown quite a bit, ‘aven’t ye?”

“We’ve met?” He asked, a frown on his face. He’d have thought he’d recognise a behemoth like Hagrid.

“Aye, a few times. I knew ye parents, lad. Dear friends o’ mine. I’m the one who brought ye to ‘Ogwarts that night. Carried ye all the way m’self.”

Harry smiled a little at the mention of his parents – the man seemed earnest enough, and despite his size and obvious strength, the way he scratched absently at the back of the dog’s head spoke of a tenderness he hadn’t expected.

“Any friends of my parents are friends of mine.” Harry replied, noting absently that Hagrid’s eyes appeared quite shiny.

The Groundskeeper gave a loud sniff and cleared his throat as he shifted from foot to foot. Behind Harry, he could hear the approach of a number of students – even without calling Clara, he was shocked he had arrived first.

“’Ave you got your familiar, ‘Arry?” Hagrid asked after a moment, tugging on the sleeves of his moleskin coat absently.

“I’d rather call her when needed, if that’s okay? I’m worried she’ll make a fuss if she’s here before she absolutely has to be.”

Hagrid nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder with the same gentleness that he had used with his dog.

“Alrigh’ class, gather round, gather round!” Hagrid called to the students.

Harry took in the sight of everyone. Many had owls perched on their shoulders, or cats held in their arms. There were a pair of students with large snakes draped around their necks, and a number of various dogs sat, rolled or lay on the grass panting happily.

Harry stepped to the side of the class and found himself next to Hermione, who he noted didn’t seem to have a familiar. If her studiousness from the day was anything to go by, he’d put his money on her bonding with an owl of some sort.

He smiled politely as she glanced at him, earning a shy one in return before her attention snapped back to their teacher.

“Now, I’m ‘Agrid and I’ll be teachin’ ye ‘ow to look after yer familiars. Meet Fang – e’s mine.”

“Gonna need a bucket for all that drool.” Someone muttered from the back, earning a number of chuckles, including Hagrid himself.

“Aye, e’s a messy on alright. Now, I want ye all to spread out with your familiars. ‘Arry, migh’ be worth callin’ yours now, eh?”

Harry sighed as he placed his bag on the floor and tried to ignore the stares.

“Potters got to call his? What is it, a racing pigeon?” Draco sniggered as a number of students from all houses chuckled quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over at the castle. “Clara!” He called.

There was no brilliant burst of flame, nor the sound of her calls on the wind. He _bloody_ knew it. He knew she was going to pull something like this.

“Clara!” He called more forcefully this time, frowning as once more went unanswered.

“Potters lost his pet.” A Ravenclaw chuckled. Harry glanced over his shoulder and glared at the boy who was cradling a rabbit.

“Clara, I won’t call you again.” Harry tried once more, this time hearing the familiar whistles and calls of his companion. He sighed in relief.

Everyone in the class looked towards the castle as they too heard the answering call. There was a dim burst of light behind one of the far towers, before he spotted her graceful swoops around the tall buildings.

There were gasps all around him before the murmuring began – even Hagrid stepped up next to him, his mouth open in wonder.

Clara approached slowly, banking this way and that on the wind and a small trail of flame following in her wake. It took far longer than it should have for her to fly over the bridge, even as she dropped beneath it out of sight, only to swoop back up.

She came to a hovering halt just above them all, her powerful wings beating steadily as her black eyes swept over all gathered, though they lingered on Harry the longest.

“Come here, you bloody peacock.” Harry sighed, pointing at the floor.

She landed gracefully before taking a short hop towards him. She tilted her head slightly, and Harry scratched her feathers lightly with his fingertips. There was utter silence.

“What _is_ that?” Someone asked – no doubt a Muggle-born. Harry turned to look at the amazed expressions on the faces of the class – besides Neville and Daphne, of course.

“ _That_ is a _bloody Phoenix_!” Someone else muttered, immediately starting a small chain of whispers.

“’Arry, where did ye bond with a Phoenix, of all things?” Hagrid asked, kneeling before the creature and offering a finger slowly. Clara preened at the attention and allowed Hagrid to stroke her feathers.

“I was… on a trip, and I found her in a bush – I think she’d had a recent burning. She’s not had one since, though.” Harry shrugged.

“Wait, you’ve had a _Phoenix_ for two years?” Ron gasped; his rat firmly clutched in his hands.

“About that. I bonded with Hedwig over the Summer too, but she just handles the mail, mostly.” Harry replied and rubbed at his forehead.

“You have _two_?” Dean asked, his cat perched on his shoulder as it pawed at his short hair.

“Aye, it’s more common than you’d think.” Harry shrugged, trying to deflect the attention.

Clara took that moment to hop over to Neville and Daphne, who were standing nearby. Harry sighed and rubbed his temples as both gave her a friendly scratch. Neville even threw her a piece of meat, which she scarfed down. Bloody traitor.

“You two knew about this?” Someone else, a Hufflepuff, asked. The girl looked between both of his friends.

“Aye, we’ve known Clara for almost as long as Harry.” Neville shrugged as Trevor croaked in his hands.

“And you didn’t say anything?” A Ravenclaw demanded. Harry frowned at that.

“Why would we? She’s _Harry_ ’s familiar, not ours and _certainly_ not any of yours.” Daphne shot back, scowling.

“Can we pet her?” A quiet voice asked to his side – he noticed absently that it was Hermione, who appeared as if she were physically stopping herself from rushing the bird as she chewed on her lip and toed the floor absently.

“She’s going to be _impossible_ after this,” Harry groaned as he sat down on the floor, completely exasperated. “Yes, you can pet her if she lets you. Fair warning, she’ll burn you and bite you before asking any questions. I’m not responsible for either.”

Harry groaned as almost the entire class rushed the bird. From what he could see between the legs of the students _and_ Hagrid – who had moved far quicker than he had thought the man capable of, Clara was proudly strutting from student to student, basking in the attention and adoration.

Neville sat himself on Harry’s left, snickering to himself as he gently scratched the back of Trevor’s head, and Daphne elegantly folded her legs beneath her as she scratched her Hawk, Merlin, under the chin.

“You’ve nobody to blame but yourself.” Daphne chuckled, rolling her eyes at him as he pouted.

“Bloody chicken.” Harry muttered to himself as the corners of his lips twitched upwards.


	12. Harry VI

October thirty-first dawned grey and overcast – almost as if the day was there as a physical manifestation of Harry’s glum mood.

He went about the castle with the same straight back and impeccable appearance, but there was something about him that caused those in his classes to avoid him – with the exception of Neville, Daphne and Tracey of course.

Neville and Daphne immediately knew the cause of his despondency, it happened every year, and no amount of cajoling, distracting or joking could lift his spirits.

Today was the anniversary of his parent’s murder.

On each Halloween, or Samhain as the traditionalists called it, the day seemed a little duller, smells weren’t as nice, and colours seemed saturated. He would go through his daily routine almost as if someone were controlling his actions and he was merely an observer.

It had gotten a little easier following the trip to the Capitol – his grief was a little easier to manage, but only just.

As it was, he found himself in the _Charms_ classroom with Professor Flitwick atop a small stool as he instructed the class in the proper way to perform _Wingardium Leviosa_ – a simple levitation for inanimate objects.

Normally, he would be writing copious amounts of notes and enunciating his words clearly as instructed, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 _Merlin_ , even when he thought about making it onto the Quidditch team, he couldn’t even crack a smile! He _hated_ Halloween, Samhain, whatever the bloody holiday was called.

The class had been partnered in pairs for today’s lesson, with the idea being to help and support each other in the learning process. He had yet to speak to his Hufflepuff partner on the bench next to him and hadn’t even picked up his wand from where he had almost thrown it onto the desk.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked from the pew in front of him.

Harry tried not to frown at the wording. He was well aware that Ronald Weasley had made it his mission in the last two months to get close to _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ and not _Harry Potter_. He was easy enough to get on with, that was for sure, but his general attitude often rubbed Harry the wrong way.

He was often impolite, lazy, and usually only wanted to talk about two subjects: Wizards Chess and Quidditch. Harry was a fan of both, but how anyone could talk about _only_ those things was completely beyond him. Harry wanted to discuss spells, wand-work, applications of magic and a dozen other subjects!

The way Ron practically ignored Neville grated on his nerves immeasurably, too.

Neville was a little further down the bench, partnered with a Ravenclaw girl with brown hair – he couldn’t recall her name. Both were muttering to one another in between attempting to cast the spell.

“I’m fine.” Harry sighed as he rubbed at his face with his hands. He offered a polite smile before Ron’s partner, Hermione tried to get the ginger boy to focus.

Hermione was a whole other headache. The girl was lovely, and he enjoyed seeing someone who enjoyed learning as much as he did, but for the last two weeks she had given him the cold shoulder whenever he had attempted a friendly conversation.

In Hermione, he saw a study partner that could push him to be better, to write that extra paragraph in his essays, even though he was already almost double the required length of parchment. He had spotted her a number of times, huddled away behind a mountain of books in the Library, in a nook by a window – even Daphne didn’t read that much.

She had impressed him.

It had all started in _Introduction To Magic_ , when he had made a break-through on harnessing his magic. It had been halfway through a Monday morning lesson two weeks ago, when he had felt his magic conform to _his_ desires. There had been a small pop in the back of his mind, and suddenly the world had felt so much _fuller_ , so much more _alive_.

He could sense the others in the classroom, he could feel the Professor as she walked around slowly and offered soft, gentle words of encouragement. He could even feel the location of the small fly that was buzzing around in the ceiling before it escaped out an open window.

He had opened his eyes to see the world through that familiar blue-haze that he recalled experiencing at Arpton Keep. His eyebrows tickled as wisps of smoke filtered through the small, dark hairs.

Professor Selket had turned to look at him and gasped in astonishment, drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. He had felt Neville’s congratulatory pat on the shoulder and had grinned at Daphne’s knowing smirk before closing his eyes and relaxing. The film on his vision had disappeared and the world had returned to normal, though he could still _feel_ everything. Even his eyesight felt a little clearer.

Hermione had caught his eye, her brown eyes looking at him with such a stubborn determination that he had been momentarily taken aback. By the time he had recovered, she had resumed her meditation with such a ferocity, he thought she might combust on the spot.

It hadn’t been until the following week that she had experienced something similar, quickly followed by Daphne, Neville, Terry Boot and Draco Malfoy.

He had thought that was the end of it, and things would return to normal. Oh, how wrong he had been.

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had decided to perform a mock-test, to see how well the students in her class had been performing. It was a combination of basic theory and turning a matchstick into a needle. Magic had become _much_ easier ever since his breakthrough in _I.T.M_.

He had taken to the test with such a ferocity, Neville had been making jokes for the next few days. Daphne had been proud, and when they received their results, he had been swept up in a hug between his three friends – there had been a moment where he had genuinely thought he would suffocate.

The following day had been tense, as Hermione had glared at him from her spot further down the breakfast table. He had looked at Neville, completely baffled. He didn’t remember doing or saying anything – in fact, he had been perfectly polite in the few words they had shared. Neville had simply shrugged and returned to his bacon.

The icy glares and the cold shoulder had continued even into this lesson. Before _whatever_ it was that happened, there would be the occasional polite, shy smile between the two of them. They were far from friends, but he thought he wouldn’t mind the chance.

His dark hair hung limply on either side of his head as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. The Hufflepuff at his side made a noise of annoyance, but he paid them no mind. He did feel a little bad about ignoring the boy, but really – he just couldn’t concentrate, damn it!

A little of his frustration must have seeped out into his magic, because the next thing he knew, his feather had gone up in a small burst of flame without so much as a twitch.

“Mr. Potter, would you like me to get you another feather?” Professor Flitwick asked, his voice kind and patient.

Harry sighed again – it seemed to be all he was doing today. “I’m sorry, Professor – it’s not a good day for me, is all.”

There was a moment of quiet thought on the half-Goblin’s face as he turned Harry’s words over in his head before his eyes widened and he nodded understandingly. “That’s perfectly acceptable and _understandable_ , Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry nodded as his shoulders slumped. He leaned back against the hardwood and turned his eyes to the rest of the class.

He watched as students waved their wands back and forth – barely a swish and a flick between them. He caught Weasley beneath him waving his wand back and forth frantically, as if that would do anything other than take someone’s eye out if he lost his grip.

“Look, stop, stop, stop!” Hermione finally snapped at Ron as she held out a hand, stopping him from hitting her with his wand. Harry folded his arms across his chest and prepared himself for the oncoming show.

“You’re going to take someone’s eye out. Besides, you’re saying it _wrong_. It’s Win- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o­_ -sar, not Levio- _sar_.”

“You do it then, if you’re so bloody clever. Go on, go on!” Ron snarled, the tips of his ears visibly red from where Harry was sat.

Hermione rolled her eyes before she turned away to look at her feather, her wand delicately held in her fingers. Harry noticed she sat a little taller and held her chin a little higher as she incanted the spell and gave the correct swish and flick of her wand.

The feather rose from the desk steadily and moved inch by inch up into the air under Hermione’s direction. When it came to a halt, about four feet above their heads, the entire class was silent until Professor Flitwick commended her efforts – Gryffindor got a whole five points.

He stuck his tongue out at Daphne across the room as he caught her eye. She rolled her eyes and went back to her work.

Terry Boot was the next successful student to levitate their feather, followed shortly by Draco Malfoy. Fourth was a Hufflepuff by the name of Patricia Mallard, a willowy girl with a heavy Scottish brogue and dark hair. Seamus caused his feather to explode in a flash of magic, covering his face in a black soot and singing his eyebrows almost all the way to the skin.

The rest of the lesson went on with little to note, besides Daphne, Neville and Tracey levitating their feathers. He remained the only one in the room that _hadn’t_ levitated anything.

“Mr. Potter, can you wait a moment, please?” Professor Flitwick called as the bell sounded. The students in the room filtered out slowly. He noted a still angry Ron shuffling off with Dean and Seamus out of the door. Neville, Daphne and Tracey hovered by the doorway and Hermione was muttering to herself as she packed away her books methodically.

“Professor?” Harry asked, his satchel slung over his shoulder and his wand firmly tucked away in its holster.

“I understand today is a difficult day for you, Mr. Potter, but I was hoping you could show me your own attempt at the spell? I require evidence of your understanding for your grade, I’m afraid.”

Harry nodded sullenly at that, watching as Flitwick placed a large white feather on the desk between them. It was white in colour and frayed at the edges a little. With a flick of his wrist, his wand leapt into his hand.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” Harry grumbled, his wand movement quick and tight. He levitated the feather a foot above the desk before allowing it to drop. “May I be excused, Professor?”

The Professor nodded, a sad smile on his face as Harry stowed his wand once more and made a move to the door, his three friends following silently in his wake.

He appreciated that they kept him from any conversation as they went down the stairs and into the small courtyard. They passed Hermione on the way down, who had her satchel slung over a shoulder and three books clutched to her chest. She seemed deep in thought and didn’t even so much as react as they passed.

He came upon Ron a few seconds later, grumbling something to the boys around him. He passed them too, his boots clacking against the stone cobbles.

“It’s Levi- _o_ -sa!” He heard Ron say, his voice high and mocking. “She’s a nightmare, honestly! It isn’t any wonder she hasn’t got any friends! No one can bloody stand her!”

Harry came to a halt, his left eye twitching slightly. His nerves and patience were strained enough today, just as they were every year. He felt Daphne and Neville place their hands on his shoulders.

“Leave it Harry, I doubt he means anything by it – he’s just sore about getting shown up in class.” Neville murmured in his ear.

He nodded slowly as he prepared to carry on to lunch in the Great Hall. He’d bring it up with Ron later in private.

A bushy, brown head of hair brushed past him roughly. He recognised Hermione’s hair in an instant – her head was down, and he caught a brief glimpse of tears sliding down her cheeks as she ran into the castle.

“Shit.” Daphne muttered, massaging at her temples as Harry spun on his heel.

“What in _Avalon_ was that, Weasley?” Harry snapped, dropping his bag to the floor. He took two long strides to the red-headed boy and jabbed a finger in his chest.

“What was _what_?” Ron asked, confused. Dean and Seamus took a step back.

“Don’t you two even _think_ of going anywhere.” Harry growled, darting his eyes at the two other boys. The two of them nodded awkwardly. “You all just reduced a girl to tears – how does that make you feel? Feeling pretty good about yourselves right now?”

The three boys shook their heads simultaneously – Ron in particular looked quite pale.

“The _first_ chance you get, you are all to get on your knees and apologise.”

“To a Mugg-“ Ron began, though his words were cut short when Harry took a step closer – his eyes blazing.

“On the anniversary of my parent’s death – one of which was Muggle-born, tell me _why_ you object to such a thing.”

Ron clamped his mouth shut and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I’ll apologise the next time I see her, I swear.” Ron paused for a moment before he frowned, “Is that why you’ve been acting odd all day?”

Harry barely kept his anger in check as he spun on his heel and snatched at his bag. He didn’t bother waiting for anyone else – _Merlin_ , he wasn’t even hungry anymore.

He sighed as he stormed into the castle. His magic felt wild and barely under his own control, despite the breakthroughs in recent weeks. He wanted to punch something, kick something over – _anything_!

“Clara!” He called as he stepped into an empty classroom.

The bird appeared immediately, gently lowering herself onto a nearby table. She looked at Harry with those dark eyes and Harry felt his shoulders sag. He stepped up to her and wrapped her in a gentle hug. “Take me away from here, Clara. I just want to be by myself and think.”

There was a brief rush of heat, and suddenly he found himself atop of one of the many cliffs that overlooked the school. He could see Hogwarts on the far side of the lake, and even spotted a brief flash of the Giant Squid as it moved about in the water.

They had appeared next to a large boulder. It was smooth and, thankfully, clean of any dirt. The spot seemed to be quite peaceful and they were far enough away from the school that he couldn’t even make out any students moving about the grounds.

“Thank you.” He whispered to the Phoenix as he stroked her feathers.

She made a small noise and playfully nipped at his fingertips. He smiled a little despite himself. Sighing, he looked up at the boulder before hoisting himself atop it. The day was as good as written off – he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with his thoughts running amok.

He stretched his legs out before him, his feet just slightly hanging over the smooth edge – he kicked them a little, watching as they hung limp in the air.

Clara jumped up on the rock next to him. He leaned back on his hands as he looked over at her. “You can go and hunt if you’d like. You don’t have to stay on my account.”

His familiar peered at him, and if it were possible, he could have sworn she had rolled her eyes. Harry scoffed as the Phoenix sidled a little closer into his side as she made herself comfortable. It seemed she planned to remain out here for as long as Harry did.

How long would he stay out here? Neville and Daphne he knew would not be worried about him. They knew it was a difficult day for him – _Merlin_ , Neville was scheduled to go through something similar in just a few weeks’ time himself.

He sat top his boulder – it would forever be known as _Potter Rock_ – and stared out at the sight before him.

The sky was still overcast, colouring everything a dull grey. There were even some dark, angry clouds on the horizon, but with the wind blowing behind him, he had no reason to fear any rain. His hair danced about the sides of his face in the gentle breeze, and Clara’s constant heat warded off any chill.

What would life be like, if his parents had lived?

It was a thought that often wormed its way into his mind this time of year. How would his father treat him? He knew the mischievous and playful side of James Potter, thanks to the stories from Sirius and Remus, but how would he be in private, surrounded by his family?

Would they go hiking in Wales? He had inherited _vast_ swathes of land around Rosestone – including _Snowden_ , of all things. That had taken him by surprise when he had heard of it, then of course he had burst out laughing, thinking it surely had to be a joke of some kind.

Then he had heard how much revenue it generated him – of course there were various intermediaries between himself and the group that ran and maintained the tourist destination, but it still generated a little over one-hundred million pounds a year, which was mostly then directed to the running of Rosestone.

He enjoyed being outdoors, and to a degree, he liked to think it was a trait that had been passed on from father to son.

Given what little he knew of his mother, he knew that she was a determined witch, who was lauded as the brightest of her generation at Hogwarts. His parents hadn’t always been close – Sirius and Remus had told him _plenty_ of his father’s attempts to gain the then Lily Evans’s attention.

She had been utterly brilliant, by all accounts, with a real knack for Charms and Potions – reportedly even had a desire to earn a Mastery in the former to return to Hogwarts as a teacher. He liked to think she also liked to bake.

It was an image that had appeared in his head early on in his life. He had stumbled across Lispy in the kitchen of Blackwall while she baked him a treat. While he loved Lispy dearly, there had been a moment when it hadn’t been the small, kindly Elf who had taken on the role of his mother.

No, it had been a slim woman of average height with red hair and green eyes that had stood before the counter. She had been whisking a cake mixture in a porcelain bowl – if he closed his eyes, he could smell the mixture of flour, eggs and sugar.

She had turned to him, her brilliant white teeth set in a loving grin as she turned and held her arms out for a hug, dropping to a knee before him. Before he could set off towards her, he blinked, and she disappeared.

His family had tried to fill the void, but nothing ever really replaced his parents, now lost. He had learned to manage the pain, for the most part – but Halloween was always the most difficult. In years previous, he would hide himself away in the library in Blackwall, or sit in his room with Clara.

He didn’t have that luxury this year. The castle was full to bursting with students that were excited to eat sweets and chocolate, who were ready to celebrate the fall of the darkest wizard since Grindelwald. It made him sick.

His thoughts returned to the family he couldn’t remember.

They would sit around the table and share stories of their day while they ate their meals. His father would crack cheesy jokes, while his mother would roll her eyes and get him while trying to get his brother and sister to eat their vegetables.

He had always wanted a sibling – two at least. He would fly his broom with his brother, weaving their way across the sky as they threw a Quaffle to one another before his father would race up between them and steal it, laughing as he did so.

He would look at his brother, and his brother would look at him and they would grin at one another before tearing off through the sky after him. His brother would grow up to be a fine wizard and go on to play Quidditch professionally, and Harry would be at each and every game – his loudest supporter, no matter the outcome of the match.

They would remain thick as thieves all throughout their lives, with their children being just as close. Harry would go on to inherit the Potter lands and titles, allowing his brother the freedom to enjoy life and marry whomever he chose.

Should he have a sister instead, she would be the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts when it was her turn. She would be kind and smart, more like their mother in appearance and temperament. Harry and his brother would make it their mission to safeguard her against those who looked in her direction. His sister would be brilliant when it came to magic and go on to study whatever she wanted – he would support her whole-heartedly. At some point, she would meet a wizard, or a witch, whichever made her happy, and she would be married.

He could picture her now, in a flowing white gown, her wild red hair, tamed for once, in a beautiful braid that hung over her shoulder. The light dusting of freckles on her face would be hidden by the adorable blush his sister had whenever she was the centre of attention, as she walked down the aisle with her arm hooked with their father’s. Her green eyes would be shiny with unshed tears, while she practically radiated happiness.

She would grow old and enjoy the company of her grandchildren – to whom she would dote on tremendously and show him picture after picture of them.

He sniffed as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. It was a pretty dream – easy to get lost in.

But as he sat there, he could see them before him, smiling at him as they stood with his parents on the edge of the cliff. They were dressed casually and didn’t seem bothered by the gusts of wind and the creeping chill. They just looked… _proud_.

They stood there, closer enough to touch. He shifted a little as his mother beamed at him – she was just like he had always imagined, always smiling. He sat up a little, and Clara shifted beside him, her head darting between himself and where he began reaching towards. He was _so close_ to them; he could almost feel the heat from their bodies on the tips of his fingers.

There was a sharp tug on the back of his coat, and the next thing he knew, he was looking up at the much darker sky. How long had he been out here?

He shook his head slowly and looked at a clearly disgruntled and stressed Phoenix.

“Clara?” He asked after a moment, blinking as he tried to get his vision to focus.

Clara squawked and nuzzled his cheek. He smiled a little and patted her neck. “It’s okay, girl. I’m here.”

There was a quiet moment between the two of them. He didn’t know how long it lasted – it could have been seconds, or even hours – time had stopped meaning anything to him on Halloween a long time ago.

“I saw them, Clara. I saw them.” He whispered, feeling the sharp prick of her talons as she clambered onto his chest. She sat down – not an easy feat for a Phoenix, what with their long tails – and he watched as small tears formed in her black eyes. They would take a second to form, before trailing down the dark skin and dripping into his doublet, right on the Potter sigil on his breast.

For the first time in a long time, he wept. The cliff was silent but for the sounds of a boy wishing for a family he would never know and a Phoenix that wept for her wizard. There were no words murmured from wizard to bird – just the gut wrenching sobs that had been held in for far too long.

His arms were wrapped around Clara’s body – at some point he had sat up, and she had settled herself in his lap. Her large wings were spread wide and similarly wrapped around himself. He rocked side to side as his body shook, his tears leaving slick tracks along his cheeks.

Eventually, he managed to gather himself somewhat and he pulled back and wiped at his cheeks and eyes with the heels of his hands. He gave a mighty sniff and made a show of pulling himself back together. No doubt when Hedwig returned tomorrow, he would write to Sirius, Remus and Arcturus and tell them about today – perhaps Sirius and Remus would have a good idea as to what a brother and a sister of his would have been called.

“Come on, girl. I suppose we should get back.”

There was another flash of light, and a feeling of heat before he found himself sat on the floor of the abandoned classroom he had ducked into earlier. His bag was still where he left it, and the light from the moon cast its cool light through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He scrambled to his feet and brushed off his coat and hands. Clara hopped twice on the spot before he knelt and kissed the crown of feathers atop her head.

“Thank you. Now, go and hunt. I’m going for a walk.” He whispered, giving her one last scratch under her chin before she was engulfed in flame – just the slight smell of burning ozone to ever hint at her passing.

Harry scooped up the bag from the floor and threw it over a shoulder. He flicked his wand into his hand and muttered, “ _Tempus_.”

A small dial made of bright orange light fizzled into existence before him. There were three hands, one of them ticking steadily. It was half six – the feast was already half complete. He didn’t particularly feel like eating in any case.

He swiped his wand through the dial, watching as the magical time-piece fizzled away into nothingness.

He stepped from the classroom, instead choosing the head towards the nearest staircase. He had no intention of dealing with _anything_ right now, let alone the rest of the student body. He trusted Neville, Daphne and Tracey to have made sure Weasley, Thomas and Finnegan had apologised to Hermione in his absence.

He really did hope that it was all sorted by the time he returned to the tower. He would be sharing a living space with the three boys for the next six and a half years – he had no desire for any drama or animosity between them, but he _would not_ apologise for his actions.

They had been mocking a girl who, even he had noticed, didn’t appear to have any friends at Hogwarts. He couldn’t stand bullies at the best of times, and he wasn’t about to go making any exceptions.

His boots clicked and clacked against the marble steps, and he found himself wandering along a second-floor corridor before long.

He stopped and looked out of one of the many windows along the corridor. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the sky had cleared remarkably while he had been lost in his thoughts.

The stars were bright, and the moon was almost full – Remus would be feeling the effects of _that_ on top of everything else, and the air felt crisp and cool. Rejuvenating, almost.

He watched as a familiar bright silhouette pirouetted above the lake, the song of his familiar sad and mournful on the slight breeze that tickled at his cheeks from the slightly ajar window. He watched as Clara was joined by another similar shape, though this was noticeably smaller in size, though no less bright against the black sky.

It seemed Clara at least had Fawkes for company on her hunt tonight – he wouldn’t begrudge her that. He remained there, watching them, and somehow he _knew_ Clara was aware of his eyes on her. Harry smiled a little before he saw them fly towards the mountains on the far side of the lake.

Harry turned from the window and continued walking, his pace lazy and his hands clasped at the small of his back. He had no particular destination in mind, so he resolved to simply bask in the quiet and _think_ – though, he wasn’t sure if he could emotionally take much more of his thinking today. What he really needed was a good sleep – ideally of exhaustion. _Merlin forbid_ he wake up in a cold sweat tonight of all nights.

He grunted a little as he felt his lip curl at the thought. No, tonight he would remain awake until the last possible second, before allowing himself to fall into that dreamless sleep. He would suffer for it tomorrow, no doubt, but he _refused_ to suffer more than he had to today.

He let out a sigh before a booming thud shook the end of the corridor. Harry stumbled to the left a little, catching himself on a nearby stone pillar covered in intricate carvings of Badgers.

Another thud followed it, accompanied by a grunt from around the corner. Harry ducked behind the pillar as a large shadow came into view.

The smell assaulted his nose before the sight of it assaulted his eyesight. Never had he wished for poor vision more than he did in that moment. He quietly cursed Arcturus for getting a Healer to correct his vision all those years ago.

There, passing the end of the hallway, was a twelve-foot Mountain Troll. Its body was lumpy and made of a thick, dull granite-grey hide. Atop its shoulders was a small head with large ears and a tiny eyes beneath a heavy brow. Tusks jutted up from its lower jaw, stretching almost all the way up to its nose.

Its legs were thick as tree trunks, but short and stubby in comparison to the rest of its body. The feet, which were the cause for its not-so-quiet steps, were flat and covered in small horn-like protrusions.

Its arms were long as they were thick – the knuckles barely brushing the floor on either side of it. It dragged a heavy looking club that resembled an up-ended tree-trunk more than anything.

The smell was as foul as its appearance, reeking of rotten eggs and manure.

He edged himself out from behind the pillar slowly as the Troll continued on its way. With a morbid curiosity, he approached the end of the corridor. He had read about Mountain Trolls in the various books in Blackwall’s library but the opportunity to see one in the flesh was too good to pass up – even with the smell!

Mountain Trolls were the largest of their species, and often the most foul-tempered. They usually roamed the lands around Hungary and Ukraine. What was remarkable about them was their diet – many assumed, that, due to the tusks that Trolls were carnivores, when in actual fact they ate _stone_! The tusks were there to entice females – he scrunched his nose at the thought of a female Mountain Troll and shuddered.

So, what in _Merlin’s Saggy Balls_ was a Mountain Troll, a creature that usually roamed the lands of the Eastern-European countries, doing on the second floor of Hogwarts in _Scotland_? They were notoriously foul-tempered, and many a witch and wizard had met their end by the creatures – who knew what chaos and destruction a displaced and confused Troll could cause in the castle filled with _children_.

The Troll stopped suddenly and sniffed curiously at a nearby door. What could it smell?

There was a beat of silence before he heard the quiet sniffling of someone crying. Harry’s eyes widened – he wasn’t the only one in the corridor! Who else could it be? He edged a little closer – maybe he could distract it long enough for whoever it was to make a break for it?

The Troll shouldered its way through the door, knocking the large piece of wood clean off of its hinges. There was an almighty bang as it collided with the floor.

“Who’s there?” Came the voice of Hermione, her voice still clogged with tears.

Harry felt his heart stop. What was Hermione doing up here at this time? More importantly, how was he going to get the Troll away from her? He mentally ran through the floorplan of Hogwarts. Hermione must have been in the girls bathroom.

He groaned as he shrugged the bag from his shoulder as he took a few steadying breaths. He paced back and forth on the spot a little as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, Potter. You can do this, it’s just a Mountain Troll. Just run in there, call it a wanker and run off.” He muttered to himself. “Ah, Hell.” He muttered as he shrugged his coat off and dropped it atop his bag.

There was the quiet click of a door from within the room followed by a heavy silence. He crept forward and crouched low – he needed to startle the twelve-foot idiot if it was going to have any _hope_ of working. Shock and… well, Shock and Run.

He heard the Troll grunt angrily before the tremors of it plodding on its feet shook the stone beneath him. He winced.

“I swear, Hermione… if you’ve gotten out of that _bloody_ toilet…”

There was an echoing crash and a piercing scream. He sprinted the rest of the way, the sound of gushing water from broken pipes and the clattering of splintered wood making him fear the worst.

He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the Troll pulling its arm back for another swing at the row of cubicles. He spotted a shuffling mass of black robes beneath a small pile of splintered wooden debris.

“Hermione, move!” He yelled, pulling his dagger from his boot with his right hand. He watched her shuffle forwards before the Troll annihilated more stalls.

He sprinted forward; the blade held in a reverse grip. Already water gushed about his feet in increasingly large puddles – a small part of him in the back of his mind was relieved to see it all clear.

He leapt in the air and planted his right foot on the obliterated stump of wood a few feet behind the Troll. He pushed with all his might, willing himself to be high enough for it to work. He arced through the air; the Troll still bent forward from the momentum of its club. He brought his blade down with as much strength as he could and grinned as it sank to the hilt into the thick flesh.

The blade had lodged firmly into a spot just above the right shoulder-blade and right below the crook of its neck. Troll-hide was notoriously thick – his little toothpick wouldn’t do anything against the behemoth. He wrapped his free arm around the creature’s neck and held on for dear life.

If there was ever a flaw with his plan – this had been it. The Troll reared up sharply and dropped its club as it attempted to reach over its shoulders to dislodge him. He noted absently that Granger had crawled across the floor to hide beneath the row of sinks.

The beast bucked this way and that, and Harry’s legs felt like they were going to fly off as they whipped back and forth. “Granger!” He yelled above the grunts and growls of the Troll.

“Hermione!” He yelled once again as he was almost thrown in her direction. If there was ever a time to develop a firm grip, it was now. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt his hold on the hilt of the blade slip a little. “ _Fucking run_!” He screamed.

She seemed rooted to the spot in utter terror. He didn’t blame her. He’d likely be in the same position if it weren’t for the fact he was holding on for dear life.

“Hermione!” He tried again, cursing as she remained where she was.

Time seemed to slow as he felt the Troll latch on to his feet. “Oh, _shit_!” He cursed, letting go of both the dagger and the beast’s neck lest he be ripped in half.

The Troll held him before its furious face for a moment as Harry felt the blood begin to rush to his head. It smelt even worse up close and he fought the urge to vomit. Its bloodshot eyes seemed crazed as the eyelids twitched. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

He winced, taking an educated guess at what was going to happen next. One moment he was hanging upside down and staring into a Troll’s eyes, and the next he was careening through the air towards the far wall. In a panic, he drew his magic into himself and attempted to cushion the impact a little.

The back of his head impacted the marble tile with a sickening crack, and for a moment he couldn’t see. He blinked, attempting to clear away the never-ending blackness in his vision. It took a moment, but slowly the world around him returned, though it was blurry and out of focus. He could feel something running down the back of his neck – was he bleeding?

He lurched to his left and threw up what little was in his stomach. Everything hurt, and he wanted to go to sleep.

Harry looked up and took in the approaching form of the Troll. Pure fear flooded his system. He was going to die, and there was nobody around to save him this time. It was the ambush on the road all over again, and this time, there was no Sirius, Remus or Clara around to save him. He couldn’t even work his jaw to call for her.

 _Merlin_ , he was tired. No, he couldn’t sleep yet – Hermione was still trapped. He’d buy her enough time to get out of the bathroom, at least.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he listened to the steady drip-drip of the water leaking from ruptured pipes.

The fear was still there, as well as the panic – he felt like he was drowning. Was this what his parents had died for? For him to be crushed underfoot by a Mountain Troll in a girl’s bathroom? At the very least, he would be able to be with them soon.

His right hand twitched, and he felt the smooth handle of his wand in his hand. When had that gotten there? It must have been knocked loose when he hit the wall. _Gods_ everything hurt, and he still felt sick. He raised his wand as best he could – his arms felt as heavy as the Troll before him must have been, and it trembled something fierce in front of his face – or perhaps that was his blurry vision? It was hard to tell.

He didn’t know any defensive spells, but he just _wanted it away from him_. Through the panic and the fear, his magic _answered_.

A huge burst of angry red magic erupted from the tip of his wand, similar in colour to the feather Clara had gifted him for its core. It impacted the Troll in the chest and carried it bodily into the far wall, even _that_ didn’t hold up under the force of the impact.

The Troll slumped to the floor as the magic dissipated in the air, its purpose complete. Trolls were made of sterner stuff, however, and it began pushing itself to its feet, shaking its head roughly. Harry’s gaze locked on the club and he pointed his wand at it, though this time he didn’t have the strength to lift it. He was _so tired_.

All he wanted was for it to hit the Troll on the head hard enough to knock it out until Hermione could find a teacher. Perhaps he could have a nap while she went looking for one.

Instead, the familiar burst of magic impacted the club and sent it whistling like an arrow through the air at the Troll’s face. The club embedded itself in the stone, while the head of the creature simply disappeared in a spray of red, white and grey. It slumped to the floor in a heap.

Had he stunned it? Was it knocked out? What was that spray?

“H’nie…” He groaned weakly. He felt something leak from his mouth. He blinked slowly.

“Harry!” He heard her panicked voice as a black blur with a brown brushy blur on top rushed towards him.

“’ired…” He whispered, his head lolling to the side a little – he couldn’t see anything but blurs of colour now.

“Harry, you have to stay awake!” Came the distant, frantic voice.

The pain in his head didn’t hurt any more when his vision faded to black. No more pain felt like a _wonderful_ idea.

* * *

He blinked his eyes open slowly as he stared up at a high-vaulted ceiling. It took a moment for his vision to focus as he blinked rapidly, frowning a little as what little light filtered through the high windows burned the back of his eyes.

There was a distinct buzz of activity that seemed muffled for a moment before it snapped into focus. A woman, Madame Pomfrey by the sounds of it, was directing people to place things in certain areas and how to label correctly.

“-attended Hogwarts in the years fourteen-oh-seven and fourteen-fourteen. She went on to-“

He started at the voice, listening as it rattled off information as it continued to read in a clear and concise manner. He felt something resting on his thigh.

He looked down and saw a familiar mane of brown bushy hair buried in _Hogwarts: A History_. He smiled a little, though he thought it might appear more a grimace as the rest of his body caught up to his heightened state of awareness.

A traitorous groan escaped his lips, and he felt himself shifting a little in the bed. He had barely stilled when what could only be described as a brown missile collided with his chest. His arms were pinned to his sides as he was engulfed in a hug.

“You’re awake! I thought for _sure_ you’d be asleep for another week! I’m so glad you’re okay – I’ll bet Neville, Daphne and Tracey will be here as soon as I tell them!” The words were spoken so quickly he had no idea if he’d actually heard them or if they were just his imagination.

The mane of bushy brown hair pulled back a little and the girl before him began worrying at her bottom lip as a pink tint covered her cheeks. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I’m sorry, I was just so happy and excited-“

Harry held a hand up and tried not to chuckle – it hurt too much to do that right now. _Merlin_ , his entire body felt like it had gone six rounds with a Dragon. “I’m alright Hermione. I’m glad you’re safe and unhurt. What happened? Where is everyone? Did they get the Troll?”

There was a heavy pause as Hermione moved her chair closer to the head of the bed. He noticed she wasn’t wearing her cloak – instead just opting to wear the uniform underneath it. She fiddled with the hem of her cardigan.

“Harry, you took care of the Troll all by yourself.”

He blinked. He did? When? He’d just stunned it.

“I thought I knocked it out?”

Hermione shook her head slowly and her eyes travelled along his body, hidden by the sheets of the bed. “I don’t know what happened, Harry – it was all so fast. The Troll threw you against the wall – it should have killed you on impact!”

Harry noticed her eyes had started to get quite shiny. She sniffed a little and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. He remembered being thrown and trying to use his magic to cushion the blow. After that, everything was rather fuzzy and out of focus – like a distant dream.

“It didn’t kill you though, and you pointed your wand at it, and the spell you used blasted the Troll _through_ the wall, Harry. You used the same spell on its club – it was dead instantly.”

Harry swallowed and realised then just how dry his throat felt. “Water.” He gasped. Hermione was on her feet instantly, lifting a glass carefully to his lips.

The water felt cool and fresh against his throat, and when the glass was moved, he couldn’t help the soft exhale that ghosted its way over his lips.

He turned Hermione’s words over in his head. Had he really killed that Troll? He hadn’t meant to, but in that moment when the Troll had grabbed his legs, he could remember the very real feeling of pure _fear_. He shivered involuntarily.

“Are you cold? I can get a blanket from Madame Pomfrey if you’d like?”

He shook his head slowly, and the room was quiet for a moment. He was thankful Madame Pomfrey hadn’t noticed him waking just yet.

“Why are you here?” He asked after a moment, his eyes sweeping to the pair of chocolate brown ones at his bedside.

Hermione was quiet for a moment as she blushed a little – he also noticed she shrank in on herself a little too. “You saved my life, Harry… I wanted to say thank you. I can go, if you’d like?” She began to stand, reaching for her book that was still propped against his thigh.

“No, no it’s okay.” Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I was just wondering why – you’ve made it seem like you hated me for the last two weeks.”

“The last two…?” Hermione muttered, frowning. “Oh!” She gasped, returning to her seat. “I’m sorry, I got confused for a moment – you see, you’ve been in _here_ for two weeks.” She replied, waving her hand absently at the room. Harry frowned at that.

He’d been in the Medical Wing for _two weeks_? Oh _Merlin_ , he’d missed so many classes! Sirius would have his hide – that wasn’t even taking into account _Arcturus_! Suddenly another Mountain Troll didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“As for your question, well, it’s a little embarrassing, really.” Hermione muttered, looking down at her lap. She murmured something that he didn’t quite hear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I said I was jealous.” She replied, a little louder but still barely audible.

“You were jealous?” He asked dumbly, “What in _Merlin_ about?”

“You! Your magic and how easy it is for you!” She answered, waving a hand at him. “I’ve always been top of my classes, and it… it wasn’t easy for me not to be.”

“You realise I only beat you on the practical side of that Transfiguration test because of my breakthrough in _I.T.M_ , right? Once you manage it yourself, you’ll smash me out of the running, easily.” Harry scoffed, wincing as a lance of pain struck his chest.

This time it was Hermione that snorted, “Please, you’re a brilliant student – not to mention you’ve lived in this world your whole life. I’m sure you were just taking your rightful place.”

Harry rolled his eyes at that. “I grew up keeping my magic _firmly_ under lock-and-key. I’d use a little to activate a rune to wash, but that was it. I’m just as new to using magic as you are – though I might know one or two more things than you.” He said cheekily. He grinned when she reached out to swat him on the arm, only to halt mid-swipe with her eyes wide as she remembered his injuries.

“You’re an arse.” She sniffed, placing both her hands in her lap before sitting a little straighter and lifting her chin a little.

“That might be Sirius Black’s fault.” He shrugged, chuckling a little despite the pain.

There was silence between them for a while, and Hermione’s posture relaxed some. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was pleasant enough.

“Have I missed any homework?” He asked after a time.

“Three essays. _Charms_ , _Alchemy_ and _Potions_.” Hermione answered immediately. Harry fought the urge to groan.

“Snape’s going to skin me alive.”

“Professor Snape.”

“What?”

“ _Professor_ Snape.” Hermione corrected him, her voice disapproving.

Harry blinked dumbly for a moment, before he realised what Hermione was saying. He scoffed a little – the _Potions_ Professor had taken an immediate disliking to him in his first class. Harry could take an educated guess at the reason behind it.

He shrugged, “Sorry, _Professor_ Snape is going to skin me alive.”

“No, he won’t.” Hermione answered him. He was about to offer a rebuttal when she placed a small stack of parchment on his legs and separated it into three smaller piles. “I, uh, I made notes for you – I thought it the least I could do, after everything.”

She was worrying the hem of her cardigan between her fingers again.

He opened his mouth to thank her when Madame Pomfrey rushed over, her voice shrill. Both he and Hermione winced. “Harry Potter! In all my years as a Healer, never did I think I’d be as worried over a student as I have been over you, young man!”

He squirmed under her furious gaze. “Sorry Madame Pomfrey.”

She sniffed, “Well, you’re lucky that I have a history of having to wipe the drool from your face.”

Harry cringed, though he noticed Hermione’s eyes had gotten a little wider.

“Would it help if I said I’ll try my best to avoid Mountain Trolls from now on?”

“Indeed, it may, though just _what_ you were doing in that corridor is beyond me.”

Harry squirmed once again under her piercing stare as she waved her wand over his body. Tendrils of orange light spread themselves evenly across his body and slowly sank through his skin. There was no sharp pain – not even a mark, as he looked down at himself. He had expected a little blood to seep through into the nightshirt he was wearing.

There was a moment of nothingness, and then in a small orange flash, a representation of his body floated above him. He moved his right arm to reach up and touch the shoulder of the image above him and watched in fascination as the image mimicked his movement. From where he lay, he could see his skeleton – _that_ looked like it had seen better days, his muscles and even his internal organs!

“I love magic.” He grinned; his eyes wide. He looked over at Hermione to see her equally wide-eyed as she looked upon the spell.

“You seem to be healing nicely, Mr. Potter. Much better than I expected, all things considered. If you behave, I may just allow you to return to Gryffindor tonight.”

“Better than expected?” Hermione asked.

Madame Pomfrey turned to look at the girl at his bedside with a raised brow and pursed lips. “Indeed. When he was first brought in here, he was almost dead. It is… _unusual_ for someone to recover from such severe injuries in a mere fortnight.”

Harry gulped, and in the silence, he could have sworn it echoed throughout the room.

“I almost _died_?” He whispered, his eyes losing focus as he stared directly ahead.

How would Sirius have reacted if he had? Remus? Arcturus? Neville and Daphne? He missed his parents immensely, but he wished to meet them as an old man, with tales of his life and the knowledge that he had made them proud. What would have happened to those sworn to his family? To those protected by Arpton Keep? He would never know the magic of that place again. What about Hedwig? _Clara_?

A hand gripped his, and his vision snapped back into focus with a blink. His breath was shaky, and he gulped in what he could. With wild eyes, he looked at Hermione – his hand clasped between both of hers.

“You’re okay, Harry – everything’s okay.” Hermione said, her voice soothing.

“Indeed, you’ve shown you’re nothing short of remarkable, Mr. Potter. Just like when you were a boy.” Madame Pomfrey said, giving him a small smile. She swiped her wand through the magic above him, and he watched as it dissipated into nothing. Once her wand was tucked away, he leant down and clasped his free hand. “Do try not to scare me like that again, Harry. I became very fond of you when Minerva and I looked after you.”

She patted him gently on the cheek before hastily moving away from the bed to go about her other duties. He blinked slowly as his jaw worked – though no sound came out.

“What was that?” He asked eventually.

Hermione grinned before replying. “I do believe she admitted to having a favourite.”

“Is that what just happened?”

Hermione nodded once before she looked down at his hand still held in her own. She blushed a little as she let go and slid her hands under her legs.

“It was really brave, you know… What you did, I mean.” Hermione said after a moment, her voice quiet.

Harry shrugged, “I would say it was stupid to jump on the back of a Troll.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his words, “What I’m _trying_ to say, is that there aren’t many who would do what you did. I’ve said it before, Harry – but I’m _fully_ aware that you saved my life that night.”

“It was nothing, really.” Harry mumbled uncomfortably.

“It isn’t _nothing_. Especially after I treated you so terribly beforehand.” She frowned, sniffing a little. “Besides, if neither of us were in that bathroom, it could have stumbled onto someone _else_.”

“Hang on, why _were_ you in that bathroom? I thought you’d have been at the feast.”

Hermione’s eyes dropped to the bed and she shifted uncomfortably. “I had been in there ever since I overheard Ronald.” She murmured.

He sat up fully at that, wincing as he put weight on his arms. “You were in there all afternoon? Did he not apologise?”

“Oh, he did – the next day in the common room. It was really strange, actually. He, Seamus and Dean all did it on their knees – it was sort of embarrassing, really.” Hermione answered him, her face turning into a slight frown as her mouth moved a little in silent words. “Wait, _you_ were the reason they did that?”

Harry cringed a little as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “You, uh, you weren’t supposed to have been able to work that one out.”

“Why would you do that?” She asked quietly – her eyes looked shiny again.

“I heard what he said, and after you raced off, I tore into him. He was _supposed_ to have gone looking for you immediately, but I didn’t stick around to make sure.”

She collided with his chest again, and just as he thought he could see the edge of his vision start to darken, she released him, and he gulped in as much air as he could. “Thank you.” She sniffed as she returned to her seat, dabbing at her eyes.

“You don’t have many friends, do you?” He asked quietly after a moment. She flinched and shook her head sadly. “Well, in that case Hermione Granger, I would be honoured if you would be my friend.”

The beaming smile he received was the only warning he got before he found himself tackled once again.


	13. Harry VII

Hermione had left an hour before for a class – he had woken up during the lunch period, and she had promised to let his friends know he was awake and feeling much better.

The time had passed slowly, with Harry idly watching Madame Pomfrey and the occasional upper year assistant busy about the large room. He watched as they organised shelves, labelled bottles and went about a dozen other mundane tasks with a focus that was startling.

It seemed that Harry was the only resident in need of actual care, though, seeing as Quidditch hadn’t started yet and it was so early in the school year, perhaps that was likely to change as the months went on.

He debated taking a nap when the large double doors of the Medical Wing were thrown open and a large black Grim charged along the marble floor, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth and bouncing with every stride.

One of the students, a girl in Ravenclaw colours with dark hair, shrieked at the sight of the dog and fainted. He was so used to seeing Padfoot that he often forgot that Grims were looked upon as portents of doom – though why anyone would be scared of a large, shaggy black dog was utterly beyond him. In his mind, ‘Creatures of Doom’, was a category that held Dragons and the like.

The dog leapt in the air a foot away from the bed and landed easily atop the sheets. Harry grimaced as the animal began nuzzling and licking his face. “Ah, get off!” Harry grumbled, glaring at the dog as he wiped at the slobber covering his face with the backs of his hands.

The dog hopped from the bed and quickly transformed into his Godfather. Sirius threw his arms around him and buried his face in his hair.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, pup.”

Harry smiled as he wrapped his arms around the man, his irritation forgotten – even if he would no doubt smell of Padfoot until he could stumble into a shower.

“You had me so worried.” Sirius sighed as he pulled back from him. His Godfather gently combed his fingers through Harry’s hair, and Harry had to fight the urge to lean into the touch.

He had missed Sirius something fierce ever since his departure on the train.

“Poppy had to chase me out of here when we first heard you were injured.” Sirius whispered conspiratorially, with a small wink.

“And don’t you think I won’t do it again, Sirius Black.” Madame Pomfrey sniffed as she approached the bed, a small scowl on her face. “You’ve just hospitalised one of my assistants with that stunt of yours.”

Harry watched as Sirius grimaced a little and couldn’t help the tiny grin that threatened to split his face. “Where’s Arcturus and Remus?” He asked, looking towards the door.

“I believe both are rounding up your friends, though Remus is likely having to physically hold onto Lispy.”

“Lispy is here?” Harry gasped; his eyes wide.

Sirius gave a short nod and playfully tugged on a lock of his hair. “Oh yes, she was quite… _unhappy_ when she heard you were injured.”

Harry grimaced and attempted to sink into the bed. At his movement, Madame Pomfrey gave a quick swish of her wand, and Harry found his pillows adjusted comfortably.

“Now, I trust you shan’t be troubling anyone else, Mr. Black?” She sniffed, sticking her wand into the waistband of her white apron.

Sirius shook his head slowly as he shuffled back half a step from the Healer.

“Excellent. Now, do try not to get up to any mischief – it would be _such_ a shame if I had to inform _Minerva_ of your activities.”

Harry heard Sirius audibly swallow. He quirked an eyebrow at the man beside his bed, but the small look of panic on his Godfather’s face gave nothing more away. Perhaps he could ask Professor McGonagall about the story sometime.

Madame Pomfrey left the bedside after that, her boots clacking against the hard marble as she walked to her office. If there was one reason to never return, it was that Madame Pomfrey could be more terrifying than any Mountain Troll.

Sirius pulled a nearby chair to the side of his bed and sat down heavily. Now that he had a moment, Harry could see the lines of stress in Sirius’s face, not to mention the large bags under his eyes. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the darkness of his hair, which appeared dull and limp.

“You really had us worried, Harry.” Sirius murmured, taking Harry’s left hand in his own much larger paw.

“Sorry.” Harry murmured, smiling a little as Sirius traced his thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you just meant to jump on the back of a Mountain Troll.” Sirius smirked.

“I didn’t even mean to do that.” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes at his Godfather’s teasing.

“What do you mean? Details of the whole thing have been disappointingly… _lacking_ , as far as we’ve been concerned.” Sirius frowned, his face turning stony.

“Would it be alright if I explained it all when everyone’s here? I don’t really want to repeat myself.” Harry asked, pleadingly. He took a moment to tug at the collar of his nightshirt.

“Of course. Now, why don’t you tell me what you left out in all those letters about your time here, hm?”

Harry grinned at the change of topic. Harry had written _countless_ letters to Sirius, Remus and Arcturus in the weeks since being placed into Gryffindor. He had told them about finding his father’s bed, his lessons in the various subjects and how excited he was to explore the famous _Hogwarts Library_!

“Well, Professor Seller had us researching basic transmutation spells just before Halloween. I swear, she’s one iron ingot short of a gold necklace half the time. Besides that, Alchemy has been interesting.” Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes at the thought of the borderline-mad _Alchemy_ Professor.

She was a wonderful instructor, but at the same time, he would be wary around anything she happened to be brewing when she _really_ got going. She was less of a ‘ _Follow the recipe_ ’ kind of Alchemist, and more a ‘ _Let’s throw a bit of this and this in and see what happens_ ’.

He imagined she didn’t get on very well with _Professor_ Snape, who was the polar opposite, if his lessons so far were anything to go by.

“Didn’t you tell me you blew someone up?” Sirius asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion for a moment.

“Oh! That was Seamus – don’t worry, he’s fine! He has a habit of blowing things up, so it wasn’t really his fault. Professor Seller just suggested adding a little vinegar to his brew and he put in too much.” Harry snickered – it was a miracle that Seamus had any hair left, really.

“What about Defence? I remember you said you were most excited about that course.”

Harry grimaced, remembering the few classes with Professor Quirrell. “They’re not _too_ bad, but the man _reeks_ of garlic and has the most awful stutter. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t jump at his own shadow, I suppose.”

“From what I hear, he’s fairly new to the position. It’s likely just his nerves.” Sirius smiled kindly. He looked as if he were about to say more when the doors to the room opened and in marched a small army of people.

There was Arcturus at the head of them, his cloak billowing in his wake – Harry noted that, for the first time, that neither he nor Sirius were wearing their usual armour. They must have wasted no time in rushing here once word reached them of his waking up.

Right behind Arcturus was Remus, a large wolfish grin on his face that was marked only by a new scar on his cheek. Harry frowned a little at that.

Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall followed at a slightly more sedate pace and were overtaken by five Hogwarts students and a downright _furious_ House Elf.

Lispy reached his bed first, her little boots slapping against the floor before she dove at him. Her tiny arms wrapped around his neck and her large bat-like ears smothered his face as she would bury her tiny head in the crook of his neck, pull back a moment, and then swap sides.

Once the others arrived, with Daphne, Neville, Tracey and Hermione crowding the bed, Lispy pulled back one more time before waving an angry finger between his eyes. He tried not to go cross-eyed as he watched it.

“Young Master Harry bes giving Lispy a poor fright! Lispy bes telling Master Harry he bes better off staying at Blackwall! Did Master Harry listen? No, he didn’t!”

He heard Tracey snicker behind her hand before he turned his gaze upon her. The snickering stopped instantly, though her eyes still twinkled in amusement. He looked back at Lispy.

“I’m sorry Lispy, I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Not just poor Lispy – you worried all of us.” Arcturus chimed in from the far side of his bed to his school friends. He clasped Harry on the shoulder gently. “We’re all glad you’re alright, Harry.”

There were nods from around the bed, all with gentle smiles.

“I can’t believe you picked a fight with a Troll, Harry.” Neville gushed – it seemed he’d been holding it in for a while by the way his entire face turned red. Everyone turned to look at him, and he watched as Neville cringed under their collective looks.

“Indeed, it is something that has the staff quite perplexed.” Headmaster Dumbledore added, his voice soft and his eyes curious.

“It kind of found _me_ , Headmaster.” Harry shrugged. He felt comfortable enough around the man from their brief conversations about their familiars. “I’d just returned from spending time with Clara…”

“Ah, that reminds me!” Remus interjected as he moved to a window and threw it open. Immediately Clara swooped into the room, followed shortly by the much smaller Hedwig. Both landed on either side of his head, their talons curled around the metal frame of the bed.

Harry bolted upright and spun to fuss the two birds. He hugged Clara, while she responded with an affectionate nip of his ear, and he scratched Hedwig under her beak and chuckled as she closed her eyes and spread her wings a little.

He turned to look at the assembled gathering around his bed and coughed awkwardly as he relaxed in the bed once again – though this time Hedwig hopped to his shoulder, though not before glancing in Clara’s direction. Lispy had retreated to the foot of the bed in his mad scramble and sat with her legs folded beneath her.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, his cheeks burning a little. All looked upon him with either smiles or were simply rolling their eyes.

“Should’ve known the girls would get a better reaction than all of us.” Daphne sighed, flicking her hair over a shoulder. Tracey sniggered at her side, while Hermione chewed on her lip.

“I believe Mr. Potter was about to tell us what he was doing with Clara?” Professor McGonagall spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the gathered students.

“I like to be on my own on Halloween, and it was getting to me.” He sighed – there were knowing nods around the bed, though Dumbledore, Hermione and Professor McGonagall looked confused.

“Whatever for, my boy?” Dumbledore asked.

“It’s the day my parents were murdered, Headmaster.” Harry replied quietly and looks of understanding dawned across their faces. Sirius and Remus appeared solemn as they shared a look – Arcturus just nodded slowly and gripped Harry’s shoulder again.

At the very least, there was little to no pain from his injuries now – just a dull ache across his body. The potion Madame Pomfrey had almost forced down his throat as Hermione left seemed to be doing its job.

“Ah, that is understandable. I assume then, that you had sequestered yourself in an unused classroom for the afternoon?”

Harry cringed at the Headmaster’s question. “Uh, not quite, Headmaster. I was worked up, and angry and just wanted to get away. I had Clara take me to one of the nearby cliffs with a big boulder on it.”

To his left, just behind his head, Clara stood a little taller, as if proud of her helping him break the rules.

“I see – I trust, Mr. Potter, you are aware of the school rules?” Professor McGonagall asked, her voice clipped and her face severe. Harry nodded glumly. “Ten points from Gryffindor for your actions.”

“Yes, Professor.” He answered, gently running the back of a finger down Hedwig’s plumage.

“Minerva…” Arcturus began, his voice shocked.

“Don’t Minerva me, Arcturus. There are school rules for a reason – not to mention Mr. Potter skipped his lessons that afternoon. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him until it was almost too late.” Professor McGonagall snapped – Arcturus, to Harry’s surprised merely snapped his jaw shut and nodded. Now he was _really_ wary of ever crossing Professor McGonagall.

“Now, Harry… How did you find the Troll? Professor Quirrell told us it was in the Dungeon.” Dumbledore asked, his voice startlingly soft compared to Professor McGonagall’s clipped tone.

Harry shifted in the bed a little as his eyes darted to Hermione for the briefest of moments. “I was taking a walk – I didn’t feel like going to the feast, and I wasn’t particularly hungry either, and I hid behind a pillar when I heard it.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I heard Hermione call out when it made a noise by the girls bathroom.”

Sirius squeezed his hand from where he had remained seated across from Arcturus. Daphne, Neville, and Tracey were all gripping the bedsheet in their fists beside him.

“As soon as I heard Hermione, I was just going to call it names and get it to chase me – but it went for her instead. I took my bag and coat off and charged in. I took my dagger out of my boot and launched myself on its back.”

“That’s our boy.” Remus and Sirius said at the same time, grinning at one another. Arcturus scoffed and rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You went at it with your _dagger_?” Neville gasped, his jaw hanging open.

“I just meant for Hermione to make a break for it – she was hiding under the sink by that point.” Harry shrugged, wishing he could hide himself under the covers of his bed and never come out again.

“It seems,” Professor McGonagall began, “that Miss. Granger hasn’t been entirely forthcoming with the events of that night.”

Harry winced – he hadn’t meant to get Hermione in trouble, and he saw how she was cringing – though she did stand a little taller.

“Five points, from the both of you.” Professor McGonagall snapped. She took a breath before continuing. “Twenty points, to Miss. Granger, for her loyalty, and fifty points to you, Mr. Potter. For sheer _dumb_ _luck_.” She nodded at the two students.

The three Gryffindor students all grinned at one another, while the two Slytherin’s rolled their eyes. Sirius and Remus chuckled while Arcturus just sighed.

“Harry, what can you tell us about the spells you used on the Troll?” Dumbledore asked, clasping his hands behind his back. Harry noted he had a small frown on his face. Hermione shifted uncomfortably at the foot on the bed.

“I don’t know, Professor. It was after I hit my head, and I just remember being so _afraid_. I haven’t been that scared in…”

“It’s okay, Harry.” Sirius said, lightly squeezing his hand.

“Is there something I should know?” Dumbledore asked, his expression one of concern as he looked at the members of the Black family and Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably as images flashed across his vision in short bursts. They cleared after a moment and he could see his guardians sharing a look – Arcturus and Sirius shared a nod between them, while Remus sighed and turned away as he paced a few steps and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Two years ago, we took a trip…” Sirius began slowly. “It was a little while after Harry had met Clara, and we were ambushed on the road. Five of the six accompanying us were killed, while the dozen that ambushed us were all defeated. Clara matured during that fight.” He sighed, nodding in the direction of the Phoenix, who leaned forward and nuzzled Harry’s cheek.

Harry smiled at the contact and closed his eyes in contentment for a moment. When he opened them, he saw the various reactions of those around the bed.

Dumbledore and McGonagall both looked mortified – he could imagine the horrors they were picturing in their minds.

Hermione appeared shocked, her face pale enough for him to notice she had a slight dusting of freckles on her nose that appeared to usually be hidden by her slightly tanned skin.

Daphne and Neville gripped each other’s hands as they shared a look, and Tracey just stared dumbly as her mouth attempted to form the words in her mind.

“My boy…” Dumbledore sighed sadly. He removed his glasses and rubbed a tired hand down his face. “Nobody should be witness to such horrors so young. I am truly sorry.”

“What happened to these attackers?” McGonagall asked, her voice quiet as she looked at him with an indecipherable expression. Her hand had travelled to cover her mouth during Sirius’s explanation, and for the foreseeable future, it looked like it would remain there.

“All dead.” Remus sighed. “They had us at the end. One of them had snuck up on Harry and grabbed him from behind the rock he was behind. Clara matured when she was thrown from his shoulder – she dropped the man onto the road.”

“Phoenixes are immensely loyal companions.” Dumbledore sighed. Hedwig chose that moment to hop from her position on Harry’s chest, to Hermione’s shoulder. A wide-eyed Hermione stared at the beautiful owl in amazement. “I fear the same cannot be said for owls.” The Headmaster smiled.

A small ripple of quiet chuckles broke the silence while Hermione turned a deep red.

“I’m sorry, I-“ She began, but Harry waved her off.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t go trying it with Clara, though.” He smiled, hooking his thumb at the Phoenix.

“I trust,” Professor McGonagall began, “that you have received the appropriate care?”

Harry nodded. It was true, he had. Sirius and Remus had talked it through with him many times, and over time he had learned to push it from his mind as best he could. Arcturus had even hired a Mind Healer for him to visit once a week and talk about it with. It had helped immeasurably.

“Would you wish to see a Mind Healer after your ordeal with the Troll?” Dumbledore asked kindly. “It is my responsibility to ensure all the students in my care are suitably looked after. I would hate for you to suffer in silence.”

“I… I think I’ll be alright, Professor. I remember the exercises.” He answered, attempting a polite smile. The Headmaster nodded and smiled in return.

“If you ever feel any different, Harry – just inform either myself or Professor McGonagall.” Dumbledore took a moment to look around at the rest of the faces around Harry’s bed. “I believe that concludes _my_ business here. Minerva, I do believe we should allow young Harry to catch up on lost time with friends and family.”

“Of course, Albus.” Professor McGonagall agreed. The two heads of the school inclined their heads politely before making their way from the room.

Once there was more space readily available, his visitors spread out around the bed a little more. Daphne hopped up on the side of the bed and kicked her feet a little as she eyed him.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, don’t you?”

“Daphne!” Tracey squeaked, swatting her friend on the arm. Neville just chuckled, while Hermione looked on awkwardly.

“It is known, yes.” Harry replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes. Remus and Sirius chuckled quietly.

“Good.” Daphne nodded, before launching herself at Harry. With no time to prepare he found himself in his first hug from the girl. He knew girls hugged, but he had never really expected one from Daphne of all people – he still remembered the day he had met the girl, and how she had thrown Neville and himself into the dirt. “I’m glad you’re okay, Harry.”

He patted her awkwardly on the back as he looked around at the others for help. Neville appeared just as shocked as was, so he was no help. Sirius and Remus were too busy staring open-mouthed in equal shock, while Arcturus continued to look on in amusement.

Daphne pulled away and glared at him, “If you tell anyone not in this room about that, I’ll hex you into term, Harry Potter.”

He nodded as he felt the blood leave his face for a moment. He had no question in his mind as to whether she would follow up on her threat.

Neville was next as he wrapped an arm around Harry, “I’m glad you’re alright, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned at the boy, “Glad to hear it, Longbottom.” Once Neville pulled away, he looked at the five friends at his side. “So, what have I missed?”

Neville informed him of everything Herbology and Gryffindor related – apparently, Harry had earned himself the nickname of _Troll Slayer_ among their house, most notably from the Weasley twins, Fred and George.

The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin had been postponed due to his injuries, which no doubt had Oliver Wood, the team Captain, chomping at the bit. No doubt he’d be paying for the delay in the match with extra practice and drills.

“That reminds me!” Sirius exclaimed as he sat a little straighter in the chair. “Lispy, can you go back to Blackwall and fetch Harry’s gift?”

“Gift?” He asked, stunned. The little Elf disappeared with a small pop, only to return a moment later with a long, neatly wrapped box.

The box itself was easily four feet in length, maybe a little less, and wrapped expertly. The little Elf smiled toothily as she handed it to Sirius, who in turn, handed it to him.

“This was from the three of us,” Sirius began, gesturing between the three adults. “We were going to send it to you as a congratulations for making the team. We know first years aren’t supposed to have their own, but you get an exception with being the new Gryffindor Seeker.”

His Godfather passed him the box, which was _shockingly_ light. The bow was removed carefully and methodically, and he could practically _feel_ Sirius bouncing in his chair. The wrapping paper was made short work of after that, and once the box itself was opened, Harry gasped in surprise.

“It’s a _Nimbus Two-Thousand_!” He whispered breathlessly; his eyes wide as his fingers slowly traced the lines of polished wood on the handle. “Thank you.” He said, looking up at the three adults.

“Just make sure you kick Slytherin’s arse, Harry.” Remus chuckled, earning, and ignoring, glares from the three Slytherin’s – two who were current students, and one long since graduated.

“I’ll do my best.” He grinned in return.

They continued talking for a time, with his friends filling him in on those events or scandals around Hogwarts that he had missed. It seemed all of them, including Tracey, had gone out of their way to make extra notes for him in class, so he wouldn’t fall behind.

It seemed that life had continued on while he had been asleep. Even this early in the year, there were those in the upper years who were found in broom closets, and younger years who would attempt to sneak-out past curfew. Hermione had had a number of interesting points to make on the futility and childishness of such actions. Hedwig had remained perched on her shoulder throughout it all, standing as tall and as proud as she could.

It was odd, seeing Hedwig perched on someone’s shoulder that wasn’t his own – though that hadn’t stopped Clara from hopping down onto the pillow next to his head and practically sitting on him.

“Children, would you give the four of us a moment? We have some family business to discuss.” Arcturus said after a while, a kind smile on his face. Harry frowned at him.

The four children nodded, and Hermione attempted to coax Hedwig from her shoulder. The owl, whose large yellow eyes had been closed, startled awake with a small flap of her wings before hopping onto the bed. The owl took one look at Clara before she hopped onto Harry’s stomach – her talons were not _quite_ as careful as they usually were. He tried not to wince.

His friends filtered out of the room, while Lispy popped away after receiving a nod from Arcturus. Not before patting his leg affectionately, however.

When they were all alone, Harry looked between the adults. Arcturus looked stern, Remus looked amused, while Sirius looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Tell him.” Arcturus said, eyeing his Godfather severely.

“I don’t see how _now_ is the appropriate time-“ Sirius began, gesturing at the room at large.

“Well, if he faints, at least he’s in the Medical Wing.” Remus quipped, having taken to standing at the foot of his bed. He threw Harry a playful wink, while Sirius made a rude gesture that would have had Lispy clipping him over the head with a newspaper.

“You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice, Sirius.” Arcturus continued as his arms folded over his chest. He looked every bit the powerful wizard that Harry knew him to be.

Sirius scoffed, and Harry eyed him carefully. “It can’t be _that_ bad, can it?” Harry asked after a moment.

Sirius grunted quietly and rolled his eyes. “It’s actually quite _good_ news, all things considered.” He sighed.

“Sirius…” Arcturus said warningly.

“I’m working up to it, damn it.” Sirius shot back – Remus continued to snicker.

“What our dear Padfoot is trying to say, is that he’s begun courting someone.” Moony grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry as Sirius shot him a glare.

Harry’s eyebrows shot so far up his forehead; he was surprised they didn’t touch his hairline. “Damn, who’s the unlucky woman?” He asked after a moment, a smirk on his lips. Sirius flicked him on the nose.

“You have gotten a bit cheekier since you started at Hogwarts.” Sirius sighed, running his hands down his face. “You know I always said that you come first, in everything?” He asked after a moment – Harry nodded. “Well, now that you’ll be spending the majority of the next seven years in this fine establishment, I have to fulfil my duty to House Black.”

Harry looked to Arcturus, who nodded sagely.

“So, you’re to have a wife?” Harry asked after a moment. Sirius nodded. “I assume it’s one of your Vassals?”

“Actually, it’s not.” Arcturus chuckled. “A betrothal contract between our House Black and House _Bones_ has been finalised.”

“ _Bones_?” Harry asked incredulously. The Bones and the Blacks had _never_ gotten along – in fact, Harry recalled reading a number of times when the two houses had nearly gone to _war_ with one another.

“I knew Amelia at school, and we were… _close_. During the war, we drifted apart and after, well… My entire focus was on you, pup.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Sirius, we _really_ need to talk about you and your penchant for putting your life on hold for me.”

Sirius managed a weak grin and squeezed his hand gently. “Aye, that’s the understatement of the decade.” Remus chuckled, and Harry grinned.

“So, I assume I’ll meet her over the holiday?” Harry asked after a brief pause.

“Aye – I suspect she’ll likely be bringing her niece, Susan, with her to stay at Blackwall.” Arcturus replied with a smile.

“Does that bother you, Harry?” Sirius asked quietly.

“Of course, it doesn’t! I want you to be happy, Sirius.”

“Now, there _are_ a few consequences of the betrothal, Harry.” Arcturus said as he sat on the edge of his bed and squeezed his shoulder a little.

“Our alliances are gaining the attention from our opposition. This is something I’ve lectured you on well enough over the years. More attention will be placed on you – you’re the key to it all, Harry. Not to mention the smear campaigns we’ll likely have to endure in the coming months.” Arcturus sighed tiredly.

“House Bones are an old and well-respected family. By tying Amelia to our house, we gain trade agreements, some land deals and not to mention the allegiance of the _Head of the D.M.L.E_. We’ll have access to a powerful voice within the Ministry of Magic. It also helps that she’ll make something of Sirius.” The Black patriarch winked playfully.

“House Black are the sworn Vassals of House Potter. We already have close ties with House Longbottom and House Greengrass – by bringing House Bones into the fold, we’ll have a strong support base for anything you wish to do in the Wizengamot once you come of age.” Arcturus smiled at him.

“Until such a time, Sirius will continue to act as your regent – if you have _anything_ you wish us to take before them, simply let us know and we can discuss it and work out the best course of action.”

Harry nodded at the man and fought the urge to chew on his lower lip. It was an awful lot of responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders, and a part of him would always second guess and doubt whether he was up to it. At the very least, he would try and make his parents, and his Black family, proud.

“Yes, Arcturus.” He murmured.

“We’re only an owl, or a Floo call, Harry.” Remus smiled at him, his hands behind his back. Harry smiled in return – they were also just a single word away if he used Clara.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clara shifted next to his head and pinned him with an exasperated look with her dark eyes. He scratched her under the chin a little.

“Well, I would think that we should take our leave. Sirius here has a week’s worth of work to catch up on after he sat by your bed.” Arcturus chuckled, gently cupping Harry’s cheek as he stood. “We’re very glad you’re okay, Harry.” In a rare display of affection, Harry watched stunned as Arcturus bent forward and kissed him on his brow.

Remus was next, wrapping an arm around him as best he could and pressed a kiss into his tangled mass of hair. “We’re all so very proud of you, Harry. Just don’t go scaring us like that again, hm?”

“I solemnly swear I’ll not go looking for Mountain Trolls, Moony.”

“That’s our boy.” Remus grinned, patting him on the shoulder as he pulled away.

Sirius was last, holding him for the longest time. “I’m so very, very proud of you Harry. Your parents would be too.”

The two of them were quiet for a moment, simply content to hold each other and quietly sniff and blink away the tears that threatened to run down their cheeks. Sirius pulled back and cleared his throat. “Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sirius began, before he paused and frowned. “And don’t do anything I _would_ do.” He added, causing Harry to chuckle. “Although, I suppose there are some things I’d say you _should_ do.” He finished with a wink.

Sirius swept him up in another quick hug. “Also, make sure to tease Daphne about that hug _mercilessly_.”

“Do you _want_ me to end up back in here?” Harry gasped, already imagining all the ways Daphne would exact her revenge. She was _ruthless_.

“Good point, but if she takes you down, make sure you take her down with you. Marauder Rule number thirteen.”

“Yes Padfoot.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“That’s my boy. We’ll see you at your Quidditch game.” His Godfather added, and Harry noticed him shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously.

“Sirius?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Get going.” He chuckled, playfully shoving the older man in the direction of the door. Sirius grinned as he moved towards Arcturus and Remus. It wasn’t long until he was left in the care of his two familiars.

He looked at them both warily before he sighed. “Okay, which of you wants to berate me first?”

* * *

He was to be released into Neville and Hermione’s care by Madame Pomfrey shortly after the dinner hour, so as to avoid all of the hustle and bustle of the castle. The Healer had provided him with a loose tunic, a pair of his black breeches and his usual boots for him to get changed into behind a partition.

It had been a slow process, having really not moved for the last two weeks. His joints ached, and his muscles burned but, at the very least, he had been kept clean and otherwise healthy as he recovered in his deep slumber.

He had sported one or two tiny scratches and cuts – tiny little things that didn’t even draw any blood, as Clara and Hedwig had nipped and scratched at him for getting himself injured. While they were both _very_ careful normally, both aware of their sharp beaks and talons, that care seemed a distant thought once they were alone.

Hedwig had danced all over his stomach, while Clara had her way with his shoulders. He couldn’t fault them – no doubt they weren’t allowed into the Medical Wing until he had woken up, and even then it was likely a near thing. It wasn’t often that animals were allowed in a hospital environment – no doubt he’d be hearing from Madame Pomfrey at some point if she found any feathers.

The day had long since faded into night, and he sat on the side of his bed by the open window as he was fussed over by a much calmer Hedwig and Clara. When the doors finally opened, revealing his two fellow Gryffindors, Harry grinned. With a gentle push to both birds, he shooed them out of the window and hopped down from the bed, wincing a little as his knees buckled under his weight for a moment.

“Ready to get out of here, Harry?” Neville asked as he stepped up to him and wrapped him in a quick hug. Hermione smiled shyly at him.

“More than ready.” He replied excitedly, returning the hug.

“Come one then, Hermione, you take his other arm.” His best friend ordered, throwing Harry’s left arm over his shoulders, while Hermione ducked under his right. He frowned as he looked between the two of them.

“One of you mind explaining what’s going on?”

“Madame Pomfrey said you’ll feel exhausted by the time we get to the end of the first corridor after being on your arse-” Neville began.

“Language.” Hermione interrupted with a huff.

“- for the last two weeks. Atromphy or something.”

“ _Atrophy_.” Hermione muttered from his right.

Harry looked between the two of them and noted the easy way they acted around one another with a raised eyebrow. Neville caught his look and chuckled.

“We took shifts sitting with you and did a fair bit of talking between the five of us over those two weeks.” Neville grinned. “Hermione and I get on like two peas in a pod.”

There was a small snort to his right, and Harry chuckled a little at his friend’s expense.

They continued through the castle in a comfortable silence. Harry did his best to support his own weight when he could – particularly on the stairs, but soon found himself exhausted and leaning against the wall.

“Come on, Harry. Just a little further.” Neville wheezed – he was doubled over with his hands on his knees. Hermione, by all accounts, seemed utterly unfazed. He fought the urge to scowl at the girl who was leaning casually against the bannister.

“I just… need a minute.” Harry groaned, grimacing when his words came out in an almost pitiful whine.

“Honestly, I simply can’t understand how you two are so out of shape.” Hermione sighed, folding her arms over her chest and crinkling her nose.

“Seriously?” Harry asked, gesturing to himself with a free hand.

“Okay, I can understand you, Harry – but Neville, I mean, _really_.”

“Hey!” Neville grouched, looking up briefly. “I’m carrying me _and_ half of _him_!”

“And I’m not?” Hermione retorted with an arched brow. Neville cringed a little. “I thought so.”

“Alright, I think I’m ready to go again.” Harry sighed, pulling himself to his full height. He took a few tentative steps forward, his legs still shaky, before Neville and Hermione ducked under his arms once again. It was an odd position, with Neville being slightly taller than himself, while Hermione was just that little bit shorter.

The rest of the staircases went fairly quickly after that – the three of them more determined than ever to make it back to Gryffindor without any more stops. Harry felt the droplets of sweat that ran down the back of his neck and noted that the collar of his tunic was much darker than that of the rest of the material. He grimaced.

Hermione had a flush to her cheeks, and her breathing was much more laboured than it had been earlier, while Neville looked no better than he felt. As much as he loved Gryffindor, why couldn’t they have been on the ground floor?

The Fat Lady had watched their approach with an amused expression on her pale features. “I trust you have learned your lesson, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, yes, no more Mountain Trolls – just open the bloody door, I’m about ready to drop.” Harry grouched, his limbs trembling. He hadn’t felt this exhausted ever since he had begun his training.

The Fat Lady made a noise of protest before asking for the password.

“Sensibilities.” Neville replied, his shoulders lowering a little in relief as the portrait swung open and they could see the Common Room. “Thank _Merlin_.” He muttered, stepping through the hole first and taking the majority of Harry’s weight as he followed him through.

“Harry, please don’t forget to take that potion Pomfrey gave you before bed. I couldn’t do this again.”

“Neither could I.” Harry agreed as they waited for Hermione to follow them through the doorway – the portrait closing softly behind her with an audible click.

“Let’s get you to one of the couches, Harry.” Hermione said softly, guiding himself and Neville into the main area – only it wasn’t empty as it had first seemed.

“If it isn’t the mighty _Slayer of Trolls_!”

“The _Rescuer of Damsels_!”

“The one!”

“The only!”

“ _Harry Potter_!”

Harry groaned at the sound of the Weasley twins before the entire room erupted into a cheer. From somewhere in the back of the gathering of students, there was a loud pop as colourful streamers shot through the air.

The noise of his house cheering for him was enough to shake the portraits on the wall as the three of them stood there. Harry tried not to grimace, while it seemed Neville and Hermione were shocked into silence.

There were a trio of stamped beats on the floor before a chorus of voices shouted, “Potter!” It continued in that rhythm for a few moments, with the twins themselves even getting up on a table to lead the chant.

Neville snapped out of the daze first and began tugging him to one of the many armchairs in the room. Students from all the years patted him on the back or the shoulder, offering him their congratulations, until he almost fell into the chair as his legs gave out.

He groaned as his body was almost swallowed by the plush crimson cushions and allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment. There wasn’t a _chance_ he was forgetting that potion tonight. Madame Pomfrey had sent it ahead of him to be placed next to his bed – it was a simple concoction to reverse the effect of atrophy, apparently, but was required to be taken before going to bed as it induced a deep sleep as it rebuilt muscle tissue.

Harry opened his eyes slowly to see the entire Common Room looking at him expectantly. “What?” He blinked.

“What, he says, Fred.”

“I know, George – the humility of the Potters lives on in little Harry.”

“Stop!” Harry exclaimed, resting his head in his hands. “I could really do without the headache tonight.”

The twins blinked before they looked at each other and grinned. “Okay, Harry.” They said in unison. He didn’t know what was worse, the back and forth they did, or them speaking in unison.

“So, how long until you can hop on that broom that was brought up earlier?” Oliver Wood asked. Harry looked to his Quidditch Captain with exasperation clear on his face.

“I would _assume_ when Pomfrey clears me when I go for my check-up in a few days.”

“A few _days_?” Wood gasped, his face paling. “But we need to practice _now_!”

“Leave off it, Wood – let Harry rest up.” Alicia Spinnet, one of the team’s Chasers said, lightly cuffing Wood over the back of the head. Oliver grumbled to himself as he wandered towards one of the side tables.

Oliver Wood had quickly shown himself to be a fanatical Quidditch player after the two of them had been introduced. It had all happened after a strange set of events, if truth be told. It had been right after their first flying lesson with Madame Hooch, and a bushy haired Hufflepuff boy had lost control of his broom.

The boy had been sent flying around the courtyard, as the broom had zipped this way and that. More than once, Harry had found himself buried under Neville’s weight as the two of them had leapt in the same direction. The boy, whose name Harry had never learned, had eventually been thrown from the handle and had broken his wrist and dislocated his shoulder.

Once Madame Hooch had rushed the boy to the care of Madame Pomfrey, Draco Malfoy had gotten it into his head to take the boy’s wand and hide it on the roof. Harry had torn off after him, having grown up flying a broom around Blackwall. It seemed that the Malfoy heir had also had some experience, as the two of them had zipped beneath archways and around towers until Draco had tried to throw the wand away from him.

Harry had sped past the blonde Slytherin and had to fight the urge to kick the boy from his broom as he did. He hadn’t known if it were intentional or not, but the Slytherin had aimed the wand at a nearby window. Harry had barely managed to catch the Hufflepuffs wand before it collided with the glass – no doubt it would have snapped or broken the glass.

Harry had returned to the ground to the cheers of his fellow classmates, while Malfoy had sulkily landed within his small crowd of Slytherin sycophants. The sharp voice of McGonagall had put a halt to the celebrating of the children, and he had turned to his Head of House with a wince.

She had led him through the corridors without saying a word until they had arrived at a large archway that led into a cavernous room filled with display cases. She had taken him before one in particular, and his eyes had zeroed in on the name engraved on the golden pin.

James Charlus Potter, Chaser.

He knew his father had been on the team, but he hadn’t yet had the time to seek out the trophy room to look for his father’s name. McGonagall’s offer of the position of _Seeker_ on the Gryffindor team had come as a complete surprise. He had accepted on the spot. The Deputy Headmistress had put a hand on his back as she guided him further into the castle, at which point she had introduced him to Oliver Wood, who had been only too thrilled to have him on the team. Apparently finding a good Seeker was difficult.

Harry had been introduced properly to the rest of the team a week later at their first practice session. It was there that he had met the three Chasers: Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. All seemed friendly enough, and Harry had discovered just how fanatical Wood was when it came to training – after all, Wood had told him to get the Snitch or die trying.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Angelina asked, her voice soft even amongst the boisterous noise of the Common Room.

“Tired.” Harry grumbled, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

“Why don’t you get to bed, Harry? You look like you could do with a decent night.” Katie smiled as she poked his arm.

“I’ve been asleep for two weeks; I think that’s more than enough reason to stay awake.”

Hermione snorted, “That’s a weak excuse and you know it. If you don’t get off to bed this instant, I’ll have no other choice than to set the twins on you.”

He glared at his newest friend. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Harry, I don’t think she’s bluffing.” Neville chimed in from the arm he was perched on. Harry watched as Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously before she began to turn towards the twins.

“Alright, alright, I’m bloody going.” Harry grumbled, weakly pushing himself from the chair. Neville stood with him as he threw Harry’s arm over his shoulder.

Hermione turned to look at him smugly. “Excellent. Remember to drink that potion, Harry.” She nodded before leading the way to across the room where their two staircases split from the Common Room. “I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow.” She smiled before hurrying up the stairs.

Neville sighed from his side as the two of them turned to look at the staircase ahead of them. “Alright Harry, one more set of stairs and we can both sleep like the dead.”

“I’ll be happy if I never have to see another staircase again.” Harry groaned as they began their ascent.

“Should’ve been sorted into Hufflepuff. I’ve been telling you this since we were six. Did you listen to me? No, you didn’t.”

“Hey, I listen!” Harry shot back, wincing as his legs began to tremble half-way up.

“Of course you do, Harry. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Neville grunted.

“You’re an arse when you’re tired. Definitely not Hufflepuff material.”

“And you’re a dead weight, what’s your point?”

“Bite me, Longbottom.”

“Shove it, Potter.” Neville snickered as they reached their door, both panting from the effort. “Come on, let’s get you to your bed before Clara torches the tower.”

“She wouldn’t dare – she enjoys the snacks people bring her too much.” Harry scoffed as they entered their small shared room of tables and chairs. Neville half carried; half dragged him to his door.

The two of them practically fell through the wooden door as it opened, stumbling the few steps to Harry’s bed, where Neville threw him as best he could atop his sheets. Clara squawked from her golden perch, and Hedwig barked from her seat on the window ledge. He turned a questioning look to his best friend, who shrugged.

“We thought she’d prefer it in here rather than the Owlery. You know how fussy she can get.”

Harry scoffed as he shuffled back against his pillows. “That’s an understatement.” Harry turned his head a little to look at his bedside table. His wand sat atop the large piece of folded parchment right next to a brown-grey liquid that sloshed back and forth slowly within a small vial.

“That looks disgusting.” Harry grimaced, wrinkling his nose at the thought of having to suffer through it.

“Disgusting it may be, but I swear, if I have to carry you tomorrow, I’ll put you back in the Medical Wing myself.” Neville groaned, having doubled over to rest his hands on his knees. “ _Merlin_ , Harry – I can’t do that again.”

“Oh, quit your whining, I’ll drink the damn potion.”

“I’m going to watch you do it, Potter.” Neville warned, pointing a finger in his direction.

“You don’t trust _me_? Of all people?” Harry asked, clutching at his heart.

Neville rolled his eyes, “I trust you – I just don’t trust Granger not to skin me alive if you forget. I’m acting out of self-preservation.”

“Coward.” Harry muttered, reaching over and clasping the glass vial in his palm. He pulled the cork free with a pop and threw the contents into his mouth, slamming his eyes shut and screwing up his face at the foul taste. “That’s _vile_!” He choked out between coughs.

“And that’s my job done – you can take your own bloody boots off, Harry.” Neville laughed as he began to head towards the door.

Either that potion was working quicker than he expected, or he was far more exhausted than he had first realised. By the time he heard the door to his room click shut, Harry found himself falling into a pleasant, dreamless slumber.


	14. Harry VIII

The rhythmic thumping of feet on the wood above his head shook small clouds of dust loose as they marched in unison along the walkway. Harry licked his lips as he clutched at his broom in his right hand. He looked to his left to see Angelina, who gave him a reassuring smile.

They were all dressed in their respective armours, with the bright red coats of Gryffindor over them. Harry couldn’t help but notice that they appeared as if they were marching off to war.

The last week had progressed quickly. Once he had been given the all-clear by Madame Pomfrey, Oliver had wasted no time in dragging the team down to the pitch almost every night – his excuse being that Slytherin had likely taken advantage of the extra time to prepare for the match while Harry had been bed-bound.

The Captain had been ruthless in his drills, and Harry had often thanked the fact he had grown up riding a broom when Oliver would inevitably call it a day. Each night after practice, he would stumble up the stairs, utterly exhausted, before collapsing into his bed.

He took a deep breath as the chanting above became a little louder. He had played the occasional game with Sirius as he had grown up – his Godfather having played alongside his father in the Gryffindor team as a Chaser. He had developed a love for flying as the years went on, relishing in the freedom of riding a broom. In later years, once he had bonded with Clara, he and his Phoenix would often dance around one another in the sky above Blackwall on clear days.

There was little that could compare with the feeling of the wind in his hair or performing a successful manoeuvre. Perhaps he would get the chance to try some today? If he didn’t choke in front of the entire student body and the guests that had come to the castle to watch.

He had caught a brief glimpse of Arcturus, Sirius and Remus as they had arrived for the match, but in the hustle and bustle of a morning before a match, he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to them. He’d seek them out after the match.

They all came to a stop before a small flap that gently wafted in the breeze. Oliver was in front of them all, with Harry and Angelina behind him, then George and Alicia and finally Fred and Katie.

“Nervous, Harry?” Oliver asked over his shoulder.

Harry nodded a little and licked his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “A little.”

“That’s alright. I felt the same way before my first game.”

That made Harry feel a little better. “What happened?”

“Uh,” Oliver winced, turning back to look ahead. “I don’t really remember. I took a Bludger to the head two minutes in. Woke up in the hospital a week later.”

Harry gulped, his spirits plummeting into his boots. “Excellent. Really rousing speech there, Wood.”

The team chuckled at their Captain’s expense and Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“Remember Harry,” Fred – at least he thought it was Fred, began.

“Catch the Snitch or die trying!” George shouted; his voice deepened in an attempt to mimic Oliver. The girls snickered, while Oliver didn’t appear to have heard the twins’ joking.

“You’ll do just fine, Harry.” Katie added. He felt himself nod – he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed her, but he appreciated the thought.

“Just remember not to end up in a hospital bed.” Alicia grinned, punching him lightly in the shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes.

“That’s the last place I want to go back to.”

A voice called out about the muted cheers above them, “Please welcome to the field… _Gryffindor_!”

The voices above them went wild, and Harry scrunched his nose as some dust fell in front of his face and tickled it.

The team all held their brooms in front of them as they swung a leg over the handles. Harry was immensely glad for the cup he was required to wear – with all the flying he was likely to do, there was a very real threat of rupturing something.

As one, they left the walkway one at a time and the cheers became much clearer. It was an enormous racket, he couldn’t help but grin and revel in the noise. There was an energy about the place that simply went beyond his understanding – the air felt alive and crackled with an anxious energy.

Harry flew in formation as the team circled the large wooden stadium, taking in the sights of all the students at Hogwarts lining the pitch on tall walkways, while large towers stretched high into the sky for those who were visiting. Each quarter of the stadium was draped in the colours and sigils of the four houses.

His eyes sought the Gryffindor stands as they passed, and for a moment he could make out Neville cheering him on with the most enthusiasm – although Hagrid seemed to be a close second. Hermione looked torn between pained and excited.

They weaved around the Slytherin team who were evenly spaced out on their side of the pitch, sitting idly on their brooms with their arms folded and looking down-right _bored_.

“Go on, Harry!” Wood called from ahead of him, and Harry grinned.

Harry broke off from the formation and steered his broom in a lazy one-eighty as he took off towards the Gryffindor section. As he approached, he tightened his thighs around the handle and allowed himself to tip to the side. He grinned as he flew lazily past the stands with an arm extended, gently slapping his hands against those of his fellow house-mates as they cheered louder.

“ _Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor!”_ They chanted in unison, stomping their feet to the beat, waving red and yellow scarves in the air.

With a twist, Harry was once more upright on his broom and he took his position on the Gryffindor side of the pitch above the rest of the team.

“Hello, and welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season! Today’s game: Slytherin versus Gryffindor!”

Cheers erupted around the field as Harry watched from above as Madame Hooch walked out into the centre of the field in her black robes, trimmed in white. A broom and a large trunk were already in the middle of the field, awaiting her arrival.

As she came to stand below them, she summoned her broom to her right hand and levelled a steely glare at all assembled players. “Now I want a nice clean game. From _all_ of you!” She ordered. There were nods from both sides before she kicked the trunk open.

The lid sprang back, and both Bludgers shot into the sky so quickly, Harry felt his broom rock back and forth. A smaller, golden ball barely half the size of his palm flittered up far more erratically – the Golden Snitch. He blinked, and it was gone.

Madame Hooch bent over to pick up the remaining ball – it was larger than the others and had large chunks missing from it. The Quaffle. With a mighty heave, Madame Hooch launched the ball into the air, each player following it with their eyes.

As it began to fall, the two teams launched towards the ball – the game was on!

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –“ Lee Jordan, a close friend of the Weasley twins began, his voice echoing across the pitch.

Harry ducked under a Slytherin Chaser that was closing in on Angelina.

“ _Jordan_!” McGonagall’s voice snapped.

“Sorry, Professor.”

Harry pulled back on his handle and shot up from under the Slytherin, forcing the dark-haired boy to swerve out of the way – he’d bought Angelina a little time, but it wasn’t much.

He was about to make a move on another Chaser when he heard the familiar whistle of a Bludger on his left. He dropped his broom a few metres, not risking a glance as to where he had been. His eyes searched the field for a moment before he took off.

He raced across the field, ducking, and weaving around players as he made his way over to the Slytherin goal posts. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the three Chasers passed the ball between themselves, only for a Slytherin to intercept at the last moment.

Harry grimaced and tilted his body a little. Until he could spot the Snitch, it was his job to help out the team and run interference. He pointed his broom at the lone Slytherin Chaser, noting that his team-mates were pre-occupied avoiding Bludgers – the Weasley boys were in fine form.

Harry ignored the on-going commentary for the match as he narrowed his eyes at his target. The Chaser was leaning forward on his broom with the Quaffle under one arm and a grin on his face. Time slowed as he drew near – he could see each individual ripple in the thin green coat of the Slytherin player. He had to time this perfectly.

As he cut diagonally in front of the player, he kicked out with his right foot and punted the Quaffle up into the air. Harry wrapped himself tightly around the handle and stretched out a hand – and caught it!

The stadium erupted in noise as time felt normal again.

“Potter has the Quaffle! A magnificent steal from Flint!”

Harry lurched his broom over a Bludger and threw the ball back to Angelina with a grin.

“Johnson has the Quaffle, and a clear pitch ahead of her!” Lee called out, the excitement in his voice palpable. “Johnson takes the shot – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – _Gryffindor Score_!”

“ _Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor!”_

Harry pumped his fist as he circled around and clapped Angelina’s hand as he passed.

The game continued on, with Gryffindor pulling ahead in points, though Slytherin managed to get their first goal past Oliver when he had to duck under a Bludger. The Gryffindor crowd booed their displeasure – even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were shouting their protests at the Slytherin stands.

His thoughts idly turned to his two Slytherin friends – who would Daphne and Tracey be cheering on? He wouldn’t blame them for cheering on their own house, but he _would_ be quite smug if they beat the snakes.

Harry patrolled high above the match, watching as players zipped this way and that, the colours of their coats the only distinguishing feature between them. It wasn’t an overly bright day, with it being the tail-end of November, and the air was chilly and had a sharp bite to it. No doubt he’d have frostbite by now, if not for the runes and charms woven into the broom beneath him.

He winced as he saw Katie catch a Bludger to the back end of her broom, spinning her wildly into the grassy pitch beneath them. After a moment of shaking her head, her dark braid whipping back and forth a little, she was mounted on her broom once more and streaking through the air.

He watched as a Slytherin grabbed the Quaffle and took a shot at the goal, only to be denied by Wood. The Slytherin hovered there a moment before streaking across the field – had Oliver said something?

Harry took off through the air once again, aiming for a pair of Slytherin Chasers who were passing the ball between themselves. He flew between them with such speed that they appeared to simply be blurs, though as he looked over his shoulder, he was proud to see that his distraction had allowed Alicia to intercept a panicked pass.

He was turning his broom in a lazy turn when it stopped suddenly and began to buck wildly from side to side, back to front, up and down. Harry held on for dear life, very aware of the large drop should he lose his grip.

He wasn’t sure for how long he managed to hold on for, but at some point, the back of the broom bucked so violently, that Harry was tossed into the air. Luckily, his grip on the handle was so tight, he managed to hang on.

His legs swung back and forth and side to side as his broom attempted to shake him off. The wind wasn’t doing him any favours. All around him, the game continued on as if nothing were amiss. He grimaced and tried to swing himself up onto the handle, but the broom was bucking too wildly to do it.

Eventually, thankfully, the broom stilled. He eyed it warily before swinging his legs back and forth. He grimaced as he swung himself up, his arms burning from the effort. He took off immediately but wasn’t quick enough to help Oliver intercept the Slytherin Chasers, who managed to score another point.

Cautiously, Harry removed one hand from the handle, wincing as he flexed it, then repeated the action with the other – they had become sore and stiff as he held on for dear life above the field. If it weren’t for his leather, fingerless gloves, he was positive his hands would be red and blistered, despite the smooth varnished finish of the handle.

With what little feeling he could recover in his hands, he tore off across the pitch, swooping past a Slytherin Beater. The Beater panicked and crashed into one of the nearby stands as she lost control of her broom.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A little glint of gold just behind the Hufflepuff benches. He tore off towards it, his eyes refusing to give up the glimpse they had caught.

It seemed the students in the stands were completely oblivious to the ball hovering just behind them, and some called out in surprise when they saw him hurtling toward them. Just a few metres from the Snitch, the tiny winged ball darted out of the way and began leading him on a chase around the pitch.

It stayed low for the most part, flittering just a metre above the grass before it suddenly sky-rocketed upwards. A powerful shunt to his side revealed the mousy-haired Seeker from Slytherin who grinned challengingly at him. Harry grinned back and tore off into the sky, his opponent not far behind.

As they reached the peak of the towering stalls, the Snitch dropped back down to the floor, whizzing past his ear as it did so. He cursed himself for not reaching out and snatching it. The tell-tale whistle of a Bludger racing towards him reached his ear.

His Slytherin counterpart pulled back on his broom, performing a tight flip as he chased after the Snitch. Harry caught sight of the Bludger rapidly closing in on him, and he had nowhere to go in time. He grimaced as he brought his feet up onto the broom beneath him – Sirius would either kill him or applaud his decision – maybe both. Just as the Bludger was about to collide with his ribs, Harry pushed off with his feet, and hauled himself up and over, putting all of his weight on his hands and forcing his legs up and over his head.

The Bludger shot through where his body had been, and he used the momentum of his body falling back to the broom to twist it around. He landed cleanly on the wood, silently thanked his cup, and took off. The distraction provided by the Bludger had given the Slytherin Seeker a few seconds advantage.

The air whipped around him as he charged after the Snitch – the scores were so close, whichever of them caught the golden ball would decide the game. The pressure was on.

He caught sight of the Snitch darting to the left – this was his chance! He cut left just before the Slytherin had a chance and closed the gap. The two of them were side-to-side again, lightly jostling one another back and forth with their shoulders.

The Snitch levelled out for a few seconds before plummeting once more – the two of them followed relentlessly. Harry narrowed his eyes at the ball, ignoring his fellow Seeker. The ground came closer and closer. Any moment now.

The Seeker next to him pulled out of the dive a dozen metres above the ground, and Harry pulled out the second the Snitch did, the bristles of his broom rustling the grass. Harry tightened himself around the broomstick, willing it to go a little faster – he could almost reach it!

He stretched out his right hand, his fingertips just grazing it. He looked below him with an idea forming in his mind. It was a desperate shot, but it could work – he was only two metres up, though that distance was slowly increasing as they travelled towards the Gryffindor hoops.

He pulled his feet up underneath him once more and took a steadying breath.

Now!

He leapt forward, his broom dropping to the floor beneath him from the force of his kick as he dove at the Snitch. His right hand clasped around it as he saw the grass coming up to meet him.

He rolled as he landed, his legs flailing as he tried to use his arms to protect his head. It was easy to forget all the way up in the air, but the grass was _solid_ – particularly with the cold chill in the air. He groaned as he came to a stop and stared up at the sky.

“Not one of my best ideas.” He moaned to himself, wincing as he sat up slowly. He couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face as he held the Snitch up in the air. All around him the game came to a halt as the stadium erupted in applause.

“Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!”

The cheers rocked the stadium as he got to his feet, stumbling a little as he did so. His team-mates landed next to him, throwing their brooms onto the pitch as they swept him up in a hug – the twins throwing him up on their shoulders the moment he was free.

Above him, the Slytherin’s looked on with pouts and scowls from their brooms. Their Seeker caught his eye and gave him a small grin and a nod. Harry nodded in return before the thundering feet of the students rumbled across the field.

Harry twisted around to see Gryffindor leading the charge across the pitch, with Neville in the lead. The twins lowered Harry to the floor and took a quick step back as his best friend collided with him, throwing the two of them to the floor, laughing.

“Harry, you won!” Neville yelled above the cheering, laughing as the two of them scrambled to their feet.

“Let’s see it, Harry!” One of the first years shouted – Lavender Brown.

Harry held the Snitch above his head, grinning as the cheers became louder. By this point, Harry could make out the scarves of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and even a few Slytherins. The teachers were slowly making their way across the field.

“ _Harry Potter_!”

Harry cringed as the shrill voice cut through the air. As one, every student around him took a step away. Harry scowled at them all. Cowards.

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey?” He asked, grimacing. The Healer was hurrying through the crowd, evidently having made her way over the second she was able.

“Are you _trying_ to end up in my care again?” She snapped as she waved her wand over him once she had pushed her way to the front.

“Uh…” He tried, only to be cut off by the irate Healer.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck, Mr. Potter! You’re lucky I don’t suspend you from the team for reckless behaviour.”

“Surely it can’t be _that_ bad-“ Oliver began, only to silence himself as she directed her glare to him instead. Well, it was the thought that counted.

“Madame Pomfrey, I trust young Mr. Potter is in good health?” Dumbledore asked as he stepped through the crowd of students, peering over his half-moon glasses at the Healer.

The woman huffed and angrily shoved her wand into her apron. “Indeed, though I would advise him not to repeat such a _foolish_ thing again!”

“Yes Madame Pomfrey.” He muttered, ignoring the playful knocks to his shoulders from the twins behind him.

“Now, may I suggest we all return to the Great Hall? I believe we’re all quite cold.” Dumbledore called out, shooing the students towards the exits of the pitch.

“Players, return to your changing rooms before you leave the pitch. Stow your brooms and armour away.” Madame Hooch called out from above, the spiky-haired woman still perched atop her broom.

Many among both teams groaned audibly at that, and Harry could imagine there were a fair few on both teams that were tired and sore. Even as he was handed his broom by Tracey – who had appeared out of nowhere with it in hand, he could start to feel the aches in his body.

His thighs were the worst, followed quickly by his arms and shoulders. He’d be taking a long shower before he got into bed. Until then, he would have to make do with the quick rinse in the changing room.

The crowd dissipated quickly, with the two teams returning to their changing rooms. The changing rooms were located underneath the Quidditch pitch, in a short set of tunnels with moderate sized rooms for male and female players, with each house having their own rooms.

Harry had thought that the smooth stone walls and the echoing drip-drip from the showers had been eerie and suffocating before the match, but now it was a welcome change from the open air and screaming crowds.

The tunnels had a musky smell to them that was an odd combination of sweat, leather and broom polish. It was a strange combination to be sure, but it was pleasant. He breathed deeply as he was led into the male changing room while Fred and George bantered back and forth about their best plays throughout the match.

There were sixteen lockers set above wooden benches in the room, each in the deep crimson of Gryffindor with golden hinges and handles. How many players had used this room over the years? How many times had his father and Sirius bantered back and forth as they got ready for a match, or returned from one?

Harry hadn’t had time to really consider it before the match, having been caught up in the terror of his first match. In a way, he felt like he was walking in his father’s footsteps – using the same bed, joining the Quidditch team… It made him feel closer to him.

He grimaced as he pulled the coat from his back, seeing the large letters across the shoulders that proudly displayed his name in gold. It was covered in grass stains and smears of soil – luckily the weather had been clear for the last few days. He dreaded to think what he would have looked like if the weather had turned.

He dumped it unceremoniously on the bench as he began peeling the armour off of himself. It pulled away with a sickening squelch, and for the first time he realised just how wet-through with sweat he was. The odour assaulted his nose next, and he forced himself not to gag. That shower couldn’t come quick enough.

Harry pulled out a change of clothes and his towel before rushing towards the stall. The twins already occupied one each a little further down the way, singing some jaunty tune he didn’t recognise. He went through his shower routine quickly, before drying himself with a towel and hurriedly pulling on his clothes.

It was with a contented sigh that he stepped from the cubicle and moved back to his locker. He had stored his wand inside it before the match, along with the holster. As it was a weekend, he hadn’t bothered to wear his uniform – instead, he opted for the large leather doublet that hung down to his mid-thigh with the prowling wolf of Potter on his breast. It was long sleeved, comfortable and warded off the chill.

He had noticed a that the children from families that were far more progressive, such as the Weasleys, opted to wear wool jumpers with jeans, or some sort of trouser – something the Muggle-born wore. He thought the colours were sometimes a little garish, but the clothing looked fine enough – not to mention it all looked a little easier to put on.

His hands moved automatically, doing up the few ties along his front, before strapping his holster to his wrist. Once it was secure, a flick of his wrist sent the wand into his hand, which he quickly used to dry his hair. Once the wand was holstered once again, it was all neatly tied up at the back of his head.

He sighed happily to himself, feeling much more relaxed than he had when he had entered the changing room, and gathered up his dirty clothes. There were hampers by the door for laundry, and along with the others, he unceremoniously dumped his clothes into one of them.

The others, he’d noticed, were already waiting for him outside the door. He blinked at the sight – he had thought he had been quite quick in getting changed – apparently not.

“There he is, our little Seeker, looking all pretty for his adoring fans.” Alicia grinned. The changing rooms for the fairer sex were located directly opposite their own.

Harry frowned and self-consciously patted his doublet.

“Ignore her, Potter – she’s just jealous that she’s not as pretty.” Katie smirked, elbowing her fellow Chaser in the side with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes as one of the twins threw an arm around his shoulders and began leading him down the corridor. “Little Harry here is the man of the match!”

“Why am I suddenly nervous?” Harry asked, looking between the two boys. They clambered up the steps in pairs.

The air felt fresher than it had when the game had been running, and the sun seemed a little brighter. It wasn’t as overcast as it had been, or perhaps it had entirely been in Harry’s head. He took a moment to breathe deeply of the fresh Scottish air, basking in the smell of pine, and the crisp, cool air.

“Come on Harry, time for your grand entrance!” The other twin grinned at him – he’d stopped trying to tell them apart.

They marched back up to the castle with their shoulders back and their heads held high as they basked in the glow of their victory. As they stepped through the threshold of the main entrance, they could each hear the loud bellowing laughter from the student body as everyone chatted, laughed, and attempted to re-enact parts of the match.

The second the team stepped into the Great Hall, they were met with loud cheers as students rushed them, wanting to congratulate the players in some fashion – each voice clamouring to be heard over the others.

Harry received his fair share of well-wishers, but at every opportunity he could get, he made sure to extoll the virtues of the rest of the team. He hadn’t won the game single-handed, and so he made sure to give credit where credit was due.

It took some time, but eventually he managed to slip from the crowd and made his way to the Gryffindor table, where he spied his small group of friends. As he approached, they all stood excitedly.

A brown missile struck him in the chest, and Harry looked down to see a mass of fuzzy brown hair. Hermione pulled back after a moment and pointed her finger in his face.

“Harry Potter, don’t you _dare_ scare me like that again!”

Harry blinked as he looked to Neville, Daphne, and Tracey, who appeared amused at the whole thing.

“Do what?” He asked dumbly, turning to look at the witch, who looked positively furious.

“That _stupid_ handstand!” She shot back, placing her hands on her hips.

“You’d have preferred I took a Bludger to the ribs?”

“Well, no, but-“

“He’s been wanting to try that move for the longest time.” Neville chuckled, though he quietened when Hermione’s glare turned to him.

“As amusing as all of this is, I’m sure Harry’s ready for a drink.” Daphne smirked, having sat back down on the far side of the bench. Harry mouthed a quiet _Thank you_ to his blue-eyed friend before he took his seat.

The long table was covered in goblets and jugs of various juices. There was a nice chilled jug of apple-juice he spotted before he quickly poured himself a cup. He took a deep pull of it, relishing in the sweet taste on his tongue.

He sighed as he placed the goblet back on the table and took in the bemused expressions of those around him – even Hermione’s initial anger seemed to have given away to a small grin. “What?” He asked. “I was thirsty.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t need to come up for air.” Tracey sniggered, rolling her eyes.

Harry narrowed his eyes playfully at his Slytherin friend. “You’re just sore Slytherin lost.”

The girl stuck her tongue out at him and scrunched her face a little. Harry chuckled quietly to himself. “We thought we had you when you lost control of your broom.” Daphne said, a single, dark brow raised.

He shrugged, not having given it much thought. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“We do.” Neville said darkly, glancing at Hermione next to him. “We caught Snape-”

“ _Professor_.”

“jinxing your broom.” Neville finished, ignoring Hermione’s correction.

“Jinxing my broom? Why would he do that?” Harry asked, frowning. He peered up towards the head table. None of the staff were seated, instead choosing to mingle with those that had visited the grounds to spectate the match – it was mostly parents of students. He even caught a glimpse of Sirius, who threw him a wink.

“Could be because he didn’t want you to beat the snakes.” Neville shrugged, taking a sip of his own goblet. “Or maybe it had something to do with why he’s been so hard on you in _Potions_.”

“So, how did you get him to stop the jinx?”

“Oh, Hermione set him on fire.” Neville answered casually with a grin.

“Wait, _what_?” Harry demanded, eyeing the girl on the far side of Neville who was attempting to appear like the picture of innocence.

“I set his _cloak_ on fire, Neville. It’s two _very_ different things.” She said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders. Daphne and Tracey were laughing into their goblets across from him.

“Did I take a Bludger to the head when I wasn’t looking?” Harry asked loudly, his head whipping back and forth. He could feel a headache coming on.

“I had to break his concentration.” Hermione replied, sitting a little taller as she rolled her eyes. “Do try to keep up, Harry.”

“I’m dreaming. I’m still in bed, and this is all a dream.” He murmured, rubbing at his temples.

“Honestly, Harry – you should see her when she gets an idea in her head.” Neville murmured around his cup. “Bloody brilliant, she is. _Scary_ , but brilliant.” Neville shuddered a bit.

Harry could only nod as he saw the bushy haired girl in a new light. In the short time they had been friends, he had quickly discovered that she had a very particular worldview. Rules were there for a reason, and those in positions of authority were to be respected – and yet, here she was freely admitting to setting a _teacher_ on _fire_.

“I for one, commend Hermione, even if it did cost us the game.” Daphne chimed in, raising a goblet in the blushing girl’s direction.

“You’re just sore you owe me five Galleons.” Neville smirked.

“You were betting on me?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Are you really surprised?” Tracey asked, rolling her eyes.

“Not really, but it’s the principle of it.” Harry shrugged, reaching out to grab the jug once more. He hadn’t realised just how thirsty Quidditch made him. “What was the bet?”

Daphne let out an exaggerated sigh, “Neville was sure you would pull some foolhardy stunt to end the game.”

“Privileges of being your best friend, Potter.” Neville chuckled, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I get to throw you in the dirt _and_ make some money on the side.”

“Since when have you ever thrown me in the dirt?”

“We were seven, and I tripped you up when we were fighting with sticks.” Neville grinned proudly, puffing out his chest a little, causing the girls to laugh.

“That doesn’t count!” Harry protested, putting his goblet back on the table after taking another sip. He frowned and poked his friend in the chest. “You used dirty, underhanded tactics – and it was _one time_!”

“Boys.” He heard Hermione grumble, and caught Daphne and Tracey nodding solemnly at her.

“I think they’re _both_ forgetting the time I threw them _both_ in the dirt.” Daphne smirked, and Harry caught the glint in her eye.

Whatever words were about to be shared between the two best friends, died quickly on their tongues. Both Harry and Neville looked at one another and gave a little shudder. Neither of them enjoyed being on the receiving end of whatever Daphne thought of when she had that look in her eye.

“Good, I hope they learned from the experience.” Hermione sniffed, refilling her own goblet with more juice.

“Oh, we did.” Harry and Neville replied in unison, glaring at the table.

Harry looked up to see Daphne looking rather smug. “We’re both _well_ aware who the boss is around here.” He sighed, wincing as he felt the girl opposite kick him in the shin.

“Harry! Still being pushed around by Daphne, I see!” Sirius bellowed, sliding into the seat next to Harry, a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand.

“Queen Greengrass demanded our fealty on the first day we met. We are naught but loyal Vassals.” Harry announced in a pompous voice, chuckling as Daphne rolled her eyes and Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

“As you should be, pup. Now, how about that game? You did fantastic, Harry!” Sirius gushed, grinning down at him – it was an odd sight, seeing his Godfather grinning down at him while dressed in his leather gambeson and armour.

“You expected anything less from him?” Neville snickered, rolling his eyes as Harry thumped him in the arm.

“True, he _was_ born to fly. Did I ever tell you about the broom I bought him as a baby?”

“You didn’t!” Tracey gasped; her eyes wide. Hermione, likewise, was just as surprised.

“First birthday. He took off giggling and clapping around the house – damn near dive-bombed the cat.” Sirius replied proudly, beaming at the table at large.

“You dive-bombed a _cat_? The poor thing!” Hermione cried, glaring at Harry.

Harry held his hands up in front of him in an effort to delay the inevitable. “Hey, I was a year old – it was this old dog that’s to blame.”

Neville started snickering, “Is this the time Lily Potter set you on fire?”

“Okay, so the end result wasn’t ideal, _but_ , my point is, is that Harry has been flying a broom almost his entire life.”

“Oh, to have seen Sirius Black with his arse on fire.” Daphne smirked around her goblet.

Sirius looked at her, about to say something, before he closed his mouth and looked at Harry instead. “I’m beginning to understand why you say she’s scary.”

Both Neville and Harry joined Sirius in shuddering in fear at the look Daphne shot them. “I call it survival instincts.” Neville muttered. “Anybody stupid enough to anger Daphne is looking to get killed.”

“I could take offence to that, Longbottom.” Daphne replied quietly, her eyes narrowed at the Longbottom heir.

Neville shrugged, “Take it however you want – doesn’t make it any less true.” He chuckled, wincing with a jolt. Harry was thankful he wouldn’t be the only one with bruised shins.

“Now, Harry – tell me about that handstand you did.” Sirius said, taking a swig of his Butterbeer.

“It was _awful_.” Hermione muttered, glaring at her goblet on the far side of Neville.

Harry shrugged as he leaned back a little, Sirius having finally released him. “I’ve been doing it ever since I started flying with Clara. She likes to try to plough into me – it’s her way of playing, I suppose.”

“Clara’s such an interesting bird – nothing like I expected a Phoenix to be.” Tracey grinned.

“It was as much a surprise to us, as it was to Harry.” Neville chuckled, gesturing to himself and Daphne. “You should see Hedwig and Clara when they start competing for his attention. It’s ridiculous.”

“Has she singed Hedwig yet?” Sirius asked with a grin. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not yet – she knows I’ll stick her in the Owlery if she does that. Although, Hedwig’s getting a little braver – I’ve never seen an owl with so much attitude.”

“They’ll settle eventually.” Sirius sighed, his eyes darting to the head table.

Harry followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Arcturus talking with Professor McGonagall. “Where’s Remus?” He asked, not spotting the man.

“He had to rush off, I’m afraid. The Wards triggered on Blackwall halfway through the match – nothing threatening, mind you – just someone requesting access.”

“You have Wards on… Blackwall, is it?” Hermione asked, leaning around Neville.

“Aye, we do. Most families have protective Wards around their ancestral homes and properties. Some Wards function as defences, other’s alarms, that kind of thing.” Sirius answered with a smile.

“And Blackwall is your home?”

“That’s right – Backwall Manor is the ancestral home of House Black, in Nottinghamshire.”

“That’s fascinating.” Hermione sighed, before she looked at Harry. “Do _you_ have something similar? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I read that House Potter were a powerful family, and I thought it stood to reason you might have something similar, and-“

Harry chuckled as she began babbling. “I do – it’s on an island just off the coast of Wales. Rosestone Castle.”

Hermione blinked, “An _actual_ castle? Not one of those Edwardian Estates that call themselves castles?”

“Aye, a proper one – it was built in five-eighty-nine, so it’s good and proper.”

“Wow.” She breathed. “Could I see it one day?”

“Of course.” He smiled, before nodding towards Neville. “Neville has one too – Long Valley Keep, in Lancashire.”

“That’s right – the Potters and the Longbottom’s are old families. There aren’t many of us left.”

“More than you’d think.” Harry muttered, earning a flick to his temple from Sirius. Of course, Harry couldn’t mention anything of House Trevelyan, and the hundreds of old families from their visits to the Capitol.

“Fascinating. I’ll have to see if the Library has anything on the subject.” Hermione grinned with a far-away look in her eyes.

“Careful, Granger – wouldn’t want your ranking in the classes to slip.” Tracey chuckled, earning a glare from the girl.

“Yeah, if you slip, that means Potter’s head will grow so big he won’t be able to fit it in the Hall.” Daphne smirked, hooking a thumb at him. Harry frowned as he looked at Sirius, who was struggling to hide his laughter behind his hand.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, you big bloody dog.”

“ _Language_.” Hermione reprimanded him, reaching around Neville to swat his arm. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed Sirius playfully in the ribs.

“Me? Laughing? Perish the thought!” Sirius snickered, winking down at him.

“You’re all impossible, you know that?” Harry muttered, glaring at those around him. Harry noticed for the first time that the Hall was far emptier than it had been. How long had they been here, just talking?

“Where’d everyone go?” He asked after a moment.

“Back to the common rooms, most likely – or down to Hogsmeade, I suppose.” Daphne shrugged, her gaze falling upon the approaching Dumbledore and Arcturus.

Harry stood and hugged Arcturus, before bowing politely to Dumbledore. The Headmaster returned the gesture with a small smile.

“I just wanted to pass on my congratulations, my boy. Excellent performance today – you did my old house very proud.”

Harry smiled at the Headmaster, “It was a team effort, Headmaster. I’m just proud to have done my part.”

“Indeed. In any event, well done my boy. I’ll take my leave – I fear all the excitement has made these old bones quite weary. Children, Sirius, Arcturus.”

The small group watched as Dumbledore walked from the hall, his hands clasped at the small of his back, and his garish pale-blue robes floating around his feet.

“Well done, Harry.” Arcturus grinned, clasping him on the shoulder. “You were brilliant. We’re all very proud of you.”

Harry blushed at the praise and scratched at the back of his neck. “I just caught the Snitch and ran interference.” He sat down as Sirius slid along the bench for Arcturus to sit beside Harry.

“Indeed, you did, and you did it magnificently. You parents would be just as proud as we are.”

“All joking aside, Harry – you were brilliant today.” Neville smiled at him.

“I appreciate it.” He murmured, shrugging a little.

“Now, tell me what you’ve all been up to since I last saw you.” Arcturus grinned, pouring himself a goblet of juice.

* * *

The Common Room had quietened down somewhat with the closing of the celebrations. Most students had either retired to their rooms or were murmuring quietly amongst themselves. It hadn’t escaped his notice that ever since he had awoken, he had been eyed differently by a number of students across _all_ the houses, and that hadn’t stopped simply because he’d caught the Snitch earlier in the day.

Harry sighed as he thumbed a page of his book, _The Permutations of Dynamic Charms_. It hadn’t been on the reading list for the course, but he simply _had_ to read it once he’d discovered it in the Library.

Across from him, Hermione had her nose buried in her copy of _Phenomena of Rare and Arcane Familiars_ , which she had checked out from Madame Pince two days ago and had been annihilating it ever since.

Neville, who was sat on Hermione’s left, had his back against the wall and his feet propped up comfortably on a spare chair and was perusing his personal copy of _Weird Shrubs_.

It had been a pleasant afternoon once Sirius and Arcturus had left, and the three of them had retired to Gryffindor’s Common Room when Daphne and Tracey had returned to Slytherin. They had stepped through the portrait of The Fat Lady to see the house in the middle of their own private post-game celebrations.

There had been more than he expected, having believed some of the older students would have taken a quick trip down into Hogsmeade. The party hadn’t even taken note of their arrival, and, as such, the three of them found themselves tucked away in a small alcove in the corner with their books.

The Weasleys had been the loudest – the youngest of the three putting the twins to shame as he stood atop a table, re-enacting plays from the game to the other assembled first years, extolling the virtues of each player, pointing out their strengths and weaknesses.

Hermione had immediately busied herself with her book, pulling it out of the small satchel bag she had been carrying around, that he hadn’t even noticed until she removed it. Neville and he had quickly darted up into their rooms and returned with their own books, joining the cardigan clad girl at the table.

The had remained in companionable silence as the party wound down and its participants dispersed. As it was, they seemed to be the only three in the room. The fire continued to crackle and spit, while beams of moonlight shone through the large windows. Had they really been here that long?

Harry sat up with a groan, his back stiff. Neville looked up from his book, while Hermione scrunched her nose a little at the sudden noise – she continued to read, however. “You alright, Harry?” Neville asked.

“Aye, I’m fine. I think it’s past curfew, though.” He replied with a shrug.

Neville flicked his wand out from the holster that was covered by his own doublet’s sleeve. A muttered spell later, and the shimmering orange mist of magic formed into a clock-face – the last time Harry had seen this spell, it had been when he had cast it shortly before his wrestle with a Mountain Troll. Harry shuddered a little at the memory.

He had found himself far calmer about having killed the Troll, and even the events leading up to it, than he would have expected. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to it all, or perhaps his ordeal two years prior had numbed him to an extent. He hadn’t had any nightmares or woken up in a cold sweat since – even his usual night terrors seemed to have excused themselves for now.

As a result, he had slept far better than he had in _years_.

“You’re right, it’s eleven.” Neville sighed, swiping his wand through the spell, and dispersing it into a fine orange cloud that faded after a few seconds.

“I can’t believe we missed the meal.” Harry sighed, closing his book gently and placing the leather-bound tome on the table.

Neville gently placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and gave her a quick shake. Instantly, the index finger of her left hand shot up and hovered before Neville’s face. His friend went cross-eyed before moving his head back as he looked at it.

There were a few quiet moments, and Harry could see Hermione’s eyes darting back and forth across the bottom of the page as her mouth moved ever so slightly. Harry chuckled – nobody got between Hermione and her books.

“Yes, Neville?” She asked eventually, dropping the hovering finger, and delicately closing the book.

“I think it’s time we got some sleep, Granger.”

“Oh, _must_ we? I’d just gotten to the most _fascinating_ passage about Mooncalves – did you know they will perform a mating ritual that looks like a dance once every two years when exposed to a full-moon?” She gushed, pulling the book to her chest as she grinned and looked between the two of them.

Harry blinked, “No, I didn’t know that.” Harry admitted – Mooncalves had never really been at the forefront of his mind, never mind their mating habits.

“You read some of the most peculiar things, Hermione.” Neville muttered, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“There’s just so much to learn about being a witch.” Hermione replied, blushing a little as she ducked her head.

“Oh, there is. We grew up in it, and there’s plenty of things we don’t know.” Harry grinned, waving a finger between himself and his best friend. “In any case, we should probably get to bed.”

“I’m with Harry, I’m exhausted.” Neville yawned as the two of them stood.

“Are we not going to talk about what happened?” Hermione asked after a moment in a quiet voice. Harry found himself looking between Hermione, who was staring intently at the varnished wood, and Neville who looked equally as confused.

“Talk about what?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Professor Snape jinxing your broom, Harry. You almost _died_.”

“Oh, that.” He sighed, falling back into the chair slowly.

“Yes, _that_.”

“Okay, why don’t the two of you tell me why you think it was Snape.” Harry muttered, folding his arms on the table as he leaned forward. Neville had retaken his seat, and now that the topic was clear, looked equally as serious as his newest friend.

“I was looking through the _Omnioculars_ , and that’s when we saw your broom start to try to throw you off. Hermione worked out it was jinxed right after she grabbed them to see for herself.” Neville shrugged, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he frowned.

“To perform a spell like that, one must maintain eye-contact at all times. I was looking through the stands when I saw Professor Snape staring at you and muttering to himself constantly.” Hermione added.

“Okay, so what happened then?”

“Well, Hagrid was worried, obviously. He was behind us in the crowd and we told him – said Snape would never do something like that to win a game of Quidditch.” Neville replied.

“ _Professor_.” Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes as both Harry and Neville smirked at one another.

“So how did he get set on fire?” He asked, fixing Hermione with a pointed look. “Also, just to be clear, it’s perfectly acceptable to set _Professor_ Snape on fire, so long as he’s referred to as such?”

“Honestly, it’s not like I did it _maliciously_. I did it to save your life – if you’d have lost your grip, and nobody could have caught you with a spell, you’d have _died_. I stand by what I did.” Hermione replied, lifting her chin in the air a little.

“In any event, I simply snuck into the faculty stand and used an _Inflamare_ on his cloak – it was easily put out, but it distracted him from _you_.”

“Thank you, by the way.” Harry nodded, returning the smile Hermione gave him.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

“So, what do we do about Sna- sorry, _Professor_ Snape?” Neville asked. “It’s not as if we have any proof.”

Harry frowned. There wasn’t much they _could_ do, truth be told. With no proof, it would simply be their word against a member of the faculty that had been teaching here for years.

He chewed on his bottom lip a little – he _could_ ask Sirius and Remus, though Sirius would most likely explode at the thought that Severus Snape had attempted him harm, and then mercilessly prank him into the next century. While the idea of Snape walking around in pink polka-dot robes was amusing, and would likely be what carried him through the next _Potions_ class, he had no desire to be the one that would ultimately be the subject of his retaliation.

Going to Dumbledore or McGonagall was out of the question as they lacked evidence. Perhaps Arcturus? There were precious few who were not cowed by the man when he was vexed and hearing that Snape had been responsible for his brush with death on the Quidditch pitch, would _definitely_ get the wizard’s blood pumping.

What if they did nothing at all? That was another idea – simply _watch_. Surely the man would let it slip if something were amiss.

“I propose we do nothing at all.” Harry said after a moment.

Neville looked surprised, while Hermione frowned. “We _have_ to tell Dumbledore, Harry.”

“ _Headmaster_.” Harry corrected with a smirk, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Why would doing nothing be the best thing to do?” Neville asked, frowning as he shifted in his seat – the wood squeaked a little as it rubbed against itself.

“If he wants something to happen to me, he’ll mess up eventually, right? We just have to catch him in the act.”

“Harry, we are _not_ using you as _bait_!” Hermione scolded, wagging a finger at him.

“Do you have any better ideas?” He shrugged, looking between his two friends.

“We _could_ sick the twins on him?” Neville suggested, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione. “We wouldn’t get the blame for it then, either.”

“That could work…” Harry muttered, rubbing his chin.

“I _much_ prefer that to using you as bait. I’ve had quite enough of watching you be reckless for one year.” Hermione said, finally standing with a sniff, pulling the book she had been reading earlier to her chest. “Now, I trust the two of you will head to bed yourselves and cease thinking of any more hairbrained ideas that could see one of us killed, or worse _expelled_?”

Without awaiting a reply, Hermione spun on her heel and marched across the room and disappeared up the stairs towards her dormitory. Harry and Neville remained sitting there for a few moments, staring at the spot she had previously occupied.

“Those are some skewed priorities, right there.” Neville grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Harry followed, sliding the tome off of the wood and tucking it under his arm.

“Aye, I won’t argue that.” He murmured, feeling his back pop a little as he stretched.

“Come on, we should probably head up ourselves – I wouldn’t want to subject myself to a Granger scolding first thing tomorrow morning.” Neville chuckled as he began walking to the staircase across the room.

“Had many of them, have you?” Harry grinned cheekily as he fell into step beside him.

“One or two, while you were in the Medical Wing. She’s just as terrifying as Daphne when she gets going – you _expect_ it from Daphne, not from Hermione.” Harry laughed as Neville shuddered a little – evidently the boy was reliving something as they clambered up the steps.

“I’m glad you all befriended her; you know. She seems nice.”

“Aye, she is. Scary smart, too.” Neville chuckled, shouldering open their door.

The candles were low in the small common area, their warm orange glow illuminating the room just enough to be able to manoeuvre around the tables and chairs.

“Shall I meet you in here or the Common Room before we head down for breakfast in the morning?” Neville asked as he moved to his door, looking over his shoulder as he grasped the handle.

Harry shrugged, not at all fussed. “Common Room would be the best, I’d say. We can wait for Hermione too.”

“Sounds good to me.” Neville grinned, shouldering open his door. “Goodnight, Harry – and well played.”

Harry waved once before the door closed with a quiet click, and Harry shouldered his own door open. The noise must have woken Clara, because as he stepped through the threshold, he caught her glare from her perch and winced.

“Sorry, girl.” He whispered, noting Hedwig’s absence at the window – most likely out hunting. He sighed as he placed the book down on a side table and pulled his wand from his holster.

With his wand carefully placed on his nightstand, Harry kicked off his boots and fell backwards onto the soft mattress. He groaned as he stretched out, feeling his tense muscles relax, and joints pop. _Merlin_ he was going to be sore in the morning, but it would all be worth it.

Harry felt his eyes close, the smile still on his face.


	15. Arcturus V

The meal was as succulent and delicious as always – the sirloin steak was cooked just enough that there was just the faintest pink in the middle, while the top had a healthy spread of sliced peppers. The sweet tang of the red and yellow vegetables complimented the rich flavour of the steak perfectly.

Across the table sat both Remus and Sirius, both eagerly eating their own evening meals. He enjoyed this time in the day, when the tasks of the day were complete, and he could spend time with _family_. Though, one member of that family was missing, and wouldn’t be with them for another week.

It was coming to the end of Harry’s first term at Hogwarts, and he couldn’t wait to hear all about it. What spells had he learned? What did he get up to with his friends? While it hadn’t been that long since the three of them had seen Harry’s first Quidditch match, he found himself missing the boy more than he had expected to.

Was it the fear that had settled into the pit of his stomach following the news of the Mountain Troll? The sight of Harry in the infirmary, as pale as a corpse with thick, bloody bandages wrapped around his head, was firmly planted in his mind and hadn’t been able to shake itself loose for weeks. He _needed_ to see Harry, to make sure he was _safe_ and _happy_.

Arcturus had dealt with the stress in the same way he always had – he threw himself into his work, into politics. The Wizengamot was his battlefield these days, and he had charged into it like a rabid Hippogriff. The betrothal between House Black and House Bones was one such result – as Harry grew older, he would need alliances and a secure powerbase to work from, and Arcturus _would_ give him that.

Arcturus cut another slice of his steak and speared it with his fork, his eyes darting between his two companions.

Remus had proven himself time and again as a capable Steward, but also as a friend and confidant. If it were possible, Arcturus would bring him into the family properly, but as the current Wizengamot legislation stood, it was nearly impossible – though he _was_ working on rectifying that.

Sirius had taken to his orders surprisingly well. Many years prior, when Harry had just arrived, and the war was fresh on everyone’s minds, Arcturus had tried to persuade his heir to marry and further the family line. Sirius had argued, and claimed Harry was as good as his son. Arcturus had claimed Harry could _never_ further the Black line, as he was a _Potter_ – the _last_ Potter, at that.

A compromise had been reached – Sirius would enter a betrothal contract once Harry went off to Hogwarts. It had seemed Sirius had forgotten that particular agreement, as Arcturus had brought it up almost the second they had lost sight of the _Hogwarts Express_. It had been a source of amusement for his Steward many, many times since.

There was a small pop, and one of the House Elves appeared at the far end of the table. Deeny stood there, worrying her bat-like ears frantically. Arcturus swallowed his mouthful and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

“Deeny?” Sirius asked. He frowned as he put his own utensils down.

“Master Arctury, sir – the orb be _glowing_ , sir!” Deeny squeaked, hopping from foot to foot frantically.

Arcturus leapt from his seat and rushed from the room as quickly as his battered body would allow him. There was a moment of silence before two more chairs scraped against the wooden floor just as he left the room.

He scrambled along the corridors, and through a room with a recessed door on the south-side of the manor. The door led immediately into a steep stone staircase that spiralled into the earth. The steps were smooth and worn, and the occasional ball of white light floated within sconces that were bolted to the wall.

The stairs evened out eventually into a series of branching corridors. This was the oldest part of the estate, remains of the castle that had once sat on the grounds, before it had been torn down and modernised by Cygnus Black II in the late sixteen-hundreds.

The passageway split in three directions – on the left was the passage that led to the _Ro’rim_ , while the passage on the right led to a similar room with another artifact. The passage directly in front of his was the one he needed.

His heels clicked against the smooth stone, punctuated by the quiet drip of water from somewhere. At the end of the corridor was a large mahogany door, studded with metal in neat rows. It was slightly ajar, no doubt left that way in Deeny’s haste to inform him, and an eerie green light trickled out of it.

In all his years, indeed in all of his father’s years before him, _never_ had the _Lia Fáil_ activated. He pushed the door open hard enough that it swung and collided with the wall – Sirius and Remus arrived on either side of him as he took a knee before the squat pedestal.

It was a small thing, only reaching to his waist, though it was as wide as it was tall. It sat on six metal legs that held up a resting basin. Around the edge of the basin were an equal number of small metal claws that would normally hold a floating, dull stone sphere between them.

Now, that sphere was floating almost a foot above its usual resting place, and it pulsed with the geometric lines that were carved into its surface. A wispy cloud swarmed around it, darting this way and that, despite the eerie stillness of the orb.

With the three of them knelt, there was a faint pulse before a form began to take shape before them. The figure had no discernible features, only that of the upper half of a human torso, and spoke with a voice that was neither male, nor female.

“ _The House of Black is summoned to a Great Council by Viscount Trevelyan_.”

They had been summoned to the Capitol? It was almost unheard of for a Great Council to be called, though the last had been shortly before the rise of Grindelwald, there hadn’t been one before that in _centuries_.

“Yes, my Lord.” Arcturus replied, bowing his head as he brought his fist to his chest.

“ _You have three days to arrive. Failure to present yourself and your heir will be seen as intent to incite a rebellion_.”

“A rebellion-“ Sirius began, his voice shocked, as his head darted up momentarily.

“ _Silence_ , Sirius!” Arcturus snapped. He took a deep breath before addressing the shade once again. “We shall arrive at the Capitol in two days, my Lord.”

There was silence in the room, before the dull humming that had been so constant just moments before, stopped along with the green light. The orb gently floated back to its place within the claws and began rotating slowly.

Arcturus was the first to stand, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. Sirius was next, while Remus stood slowly as his eyes remained fixed on the artifact before them.

“What _was_ that?” Remus asked, his voice quiet.

“ _That_ , was a _Lia Fáil_ – a way for our… _ruler_ to summon sworn Lords to his court, no matter whether they be here or through the _Ro’rim_.” Arcturus grunted, pacing back and forth slowly. His hands were on his hips and he chewed the corner of his lip slightly – a habit he had developed as a child that he had never outgrown.

“But the figure?” Remus continued to gesture to the spot where the wisp had been hovering.

“A magical imprint of whoever made _that_.” Arcturus grunted, hooking a thumb at the _Lia Fáil_.

Remus was quiet as he wandered around the ancient artifact. Sirius continued to stare at him unwaveringly.

“What are we going to do?” Sirius asked. Arcturus rubbed at his jaw absently.

“We have no choice; we _have_ to attend.” He sighed. He looked to Remus, who was hovering over the _Lia Fáil_ , gazing intently at the ancient runes along its surface and the deep geometric shapes that intersected one-another. “Remus, you’re to manage the estate in our absence.”

“What of Harry?” Remus asked, clasping his arms behind his back as his attention returned to the conversation. “My transformation falls on the twenty-third – as much as I love him, it wouldn’t be safe to be near me.”

Arcturus nodded slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well – I’d forgotten about the damned transformation. He’ll have to stay at Hogwarts.”

“No.” Sirius snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “I refuse to abandon him at the last minute because some up-jumped Lord has decided to summon us last-minute!”

Arcturus’s head snapped to the younger man, and he fixed him with a hard stare. “You think I don’t know that, _boy_? Very well, call Harry back for the holiday – he can join us when our heads are mounted on _spikes_ for refusing the summons!”

Sirius paled a little as he took a step back from Arcturus’s anxious fury. “I taught you better than this, Sirius!”

The room was quiet for a moment, but for the rapid breathing of Arcturus. Sirius nodded slowly before moving to leave the room. “I’ll inform the Elves and write a quick letter to Harry.”

The door clicked shut, with the small rattle of the handle bouncing against the wood. Arcturus stood there, his hands limp at his sides as he glared at the _Lia Fáil_.

He knew the stories – he’d read the accounts in the family library. A _Great Council_ wasn’t called for just anything. It was a gathering of all the Lords in the dominion of the Capitol, which was _vast_. There were hundreds of them all – possibly even a thousand, though there hadn’t been a census in his lifetime.

Great Councils were used to determine matters of war, rebellion, and the line of succession. The Royal Line had disappeared long ago, and there wasn’t a war on the horizon – at least to his knowledge. Had a Lord rebelled? Had a plot been discovered? There were too many variables for him to make accurate assumptions. As much as he loathed to admit it, they would be entering this Council blind.

“My Lord…” Remus spoke softly, stepping to his side. “Arcturus, what _is_ it that you’ve been summoned for?”

“I have no idea, Remus, and that terrifies me more than you could know.”

“I take it this _Great Council_ is an important matter?”

“Aye, you could say that. It’s a gathering of _all_ the Lords – it’s used to settle issues that The Council and the ruling Viscount can’t settle themselves. Declarations of war, lines of succession, you get the gist.” Arcturus sighed, running a hand through his loose hair.

“I see. Is there anything I could do to help?”

Arcturus smiled and clasped the man on the shoulder. “No, Remus – just continue to be your usual self, and I’m sure this will all be sorted upon our return.”

“And when will that be?”

“It’s hard to say – some of these gatherings have been known to take months to come to a decision. Whatever is decided, a clear majority must win. Think of it as a large Wizengamot, but less complicated.”

“I see.” Remus frowned.

He sighed as he looked around the room one last time. “Come, it seems we have some last-minute preparations to make.”

Arcturus led the two of them out of the door, making sure the door was closed after Remus stepped through. Their boots echoed through the quiet hallway in a much more sedate pace than they had when they had raced there. As they climbed the stairs, and stepped into the Manor proper, they were greeted by the six House Elves, all looking up at them with large green eyes.

“Master Arctury been summoned?” Milpy asked, wringing her hands.

“Aye, we’ve been summoned. We could be gone for a while – you’re all to answer to Remus in our absence, is that understood?”

The Elves nodded – all but for Kreacher, who began grumbling about filth. Sirius nodded, ignoring the Elf. It seemed that no matter what Arcturus did, Sirius or even Remus, nothing seemed to overcome the Elf’s prejudiced views of the world. He chalked it up to having been Orion and Walburga’s personal Elf for so many years – according to Milpy, Kreacher still popped to Grimmauld Place once a week to talk to the portrait of the vile woman – even after Arcturus had confined the crazed with to Grimmauld Place.

Arcturus moved around the small creatures, hearing their quiet pops as they returned to their duties as he moved down the hall. He moved towards his bedroom, jogging up the wooden stairs in some effort to burn off the anxious energy that had been building.

The door to his room practically slammed shut as he moved to the stand that held his armour. He began throwing it on, his fingers still nimble after all of these years, buckling belts and tying straps.

In no less than ten minutes, he was fully dressed in his gambeson, gorget, and leather – his wand strapped securely in its holster on his right forearm, and a dagger sheathed on his belt. The cloak went on last, making sure his arms could still freely move and were comfortable.

By the time Arcturus left his room, Sirius was stood outside, dressed similarly in his own armour. What a pair they made – both dressed as if they were going off to war. Were they? _Merlin_ , he hoped not.

“Did you send the letter?” He asked, eyeing Sirius before him and tugging on a strap that looked a little loose.

“It’s sent – Hedwig left just as you were coming up the stairs. It’s going to devastate him.”

“He’ll understand. He’s growing up quickly.” Arcturus sighed, squeezing Sirius’s shoulder through the armour and cloak.

“Too quickly.” Sirius grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Come, we’d best make a move. We’ll stay the night and ride hard for the Capitol with an escort in the morning.”

Sirius nodded, and fiddled with the sleeve he knew covered his own wand. The two moved down the stairs, and back into the ancient stone corridor that housed the _Ro’rim_ silently. Remus joined them on the way down, hanging back a step with his arms clasped easily before him. Arcturus watched Remus and Sirius share a small smile and hug before he strode up to the large mirror and activated it with a pulse of his magic.

The glass flared to life, the small ripples of bright colour dancing across the surface in no particular direction. Sirius stepped through almost instantly – Arcturus lingered a moment, giving Remus a short nod before he too stepped through.

In less time than it took to blink, he was standing in that same courtyard he had entered with Harry two years before. The mist swirled around his feet as he followed in Sirius’s wake, and the echo of his boots bounced off of invisible walls – there was no larger construct for this courtyard. If one were to leap the high walls, they would simply be swallowed by the void of magic. He had no such intentions. When he arrived on the far side of the stone yard, it was Sirius who activated the mirror, allowing Arcturus through first.

He stepped into the same courtyard he remembered. It was quieter this time, the sun having set some time ago. The Forge was quiet, and the carts remained still – though they were covered from the night-time chill. The horses stirred a little in their stable, but otherwise the courtyard was quiet – serene, almost.

He turned toward the largest building, the main hall, and marched across the cobblestone – Sirius quietly on his heels. The windows of the castle were all a warm orange, and the whisper of laughter and merriment reached his ears. They passed a number of guards on their way, each just as shocked as the last at the unexpected arrival of their Lord. They would stand a little taller at his approach, clutching their staves tighter, or locking their arms behind their backs. One or two fell into step behind them, acting as a small honour-guard.

They stepped into the hall, with large benches being taken up by those who worked and lived in the castle – it was a tradition within the family. Those who worked and maintained their home were welcome at their table. Row upon row of large trestle tables were full of food – there were pies, cooked birds, whole roast game, and an assortment of vegetables. If he hadn’t eaten his own meal only a little over an hour before, he’d have pulled up a seat and eaten with them all.

The hall was as large as he remembered it, though the air was heavy with sweat and, with the press of bodies, the heat was almost palpable. He found his hair quickly beginning to feel damp, and he tucked his loose locks behind his ears. It already felt limp and wet, and they’d only just stepped in from the cool air.

All sound ceased upon their entrance, and a hundred or more eyes turned to watch him – some with mouths open in surprise. Arcturus ignored them, instead focusing his eyes on the Captain of his guard. “Donnel Newt – I require a contingent of your best by sunrise. Two dozen at least.”

The Captain of his household guard was a stout man, with a bushy mutton-chop beard and a bald head. He wasn’t that much younger than Arcturus himself, though he was far more disfigured. Scars littered his face, and his right eye had been replaced with an enchanted sapphire. It was off-putting to look at, and when questioned about it, the man had laughed heartily and claimed that if it could put Arcturus off, it had every chance of throwing off an enemy in a fight. Arcturus couldn’t refute him.

“Yes, my Lord.” Donnel responded, immediately jumping to his feet, and rushing out of a door on the far side of the room. The door banged open for the briefest of moments, and he could faintly hear Donnel’s bellowing voice echoing through the corridors as he moved further into the castle.

“The rest of you, continue to eat and be merry – Sirius and I are simply passing through on our way to the Capitol. Please, continue!” Arcturus called, clapping his hands once. He bowed slightly to the room and gestured for them to continue their meals.

The two of them backed out of the room quickly, and one of the guards closed the door with a dull thud. He and Sirius moved through the corridors of Blackstone Castle with the same familiarity as they did Blackwall. While he had put off coming to claim his seat for many years, with one reason or another, he hadn’t been idle when Harry, Remus and Sirius had visited the Capitol.

He had seen to the needs of the castle, ordered a handful of changes and improved the Wards and defences where he could. In that time, he had committed the many hallways and rooms of the large stronghold to his memory. As it was, he led Sirius to the Family Wing of the castle with sure feet. The Family Wing was on the eastern side of the main keep, on the fourth floor.

It was a little removed from the regular day-to-day happenings of the castle, but the Lord’s room had a small stone balcony so that anyone could look out on the castle first thing in a morning and soak in the warm rays of sunlight. Whoever had the forethought to design that feature was equally genius and stupid. For while it was excellent in times of peace, there was every chance an assassin could climb through the window and cut his throat.

They arrived at the Lord’s Chamber shortly. It was at the end of a long corridor, with portraits of past notable family members hanging regularly between doorways. The heir’s chamber was directly opposite his own. Donnel must have been busy, as there were already guards posted outside their chambers.

“This is yours.” Arcturus said, pointing at a room directly opposite his own. Sirius nodded before moving toward it, already in the process of shrugging his cloak off. Arcturus dismissed the two guards that had flanked them through the halls with a small smile and a thankful nod.

While it hadn’t been _quite_ as late in Nottingham, Arcturus felt his eyes beginning to feel heavy. Perhaps it was his age, or the stress of the day. Either way, he found himself stepping into the Lord’s Chamber, with a nod to his two guards for the night and shrugging his cloak off with a grunt.

Tomorrow would be a hard day of riding – if the weather was good, they would make the journey to the Capitol in a day. If the weather turned, they would have to camp for the night and finish the journey the following day. He’d prefer to get it over with in one day – his aged body just couldn’t deal with sleeping rough.

His fingers went through the regular motions of removing his armour while his mind pondered the travel they would be facing in the coming days. The gorget came undone easily enough, and he grunted as the gambeson lifted over his head, the heavy leather a dead weight in his arms. The chainmail was easy enough, and his boots were kicked off unceremoniously. He stored his armour and cloak on the awaiting mannequin at the side of the hearth – the solid wood taking the weight of it all easily enough.

Arcturus found himself dressing in a nightshirt and quickly crawling into the large bed, the feather pillows soft and welcoming to his tired neck and head. The quilt was light and airy and threatened to swallow him whole – just as he liked it. Even with the light breeze through the slightly ajar window, his eyes closed quickly, though his dreams were plagued with thoughts of the days ahead.

* * *

They arrived at The Citadel the following day, just before the evening meal was due to take place. Arcturus had never visited the Capitol before, and for a moment he was in awe of the tall towers, and the glistening white stonework.

When his eyes fell upon the various Lord and Ladies that were watching him from a number of high balconies, such thoughts were banished from his mind and he fought the urge to scowl at them all. It wasn’t their fault, he knew that, but the urge to march up to Trevelyan and knock him on his arse was almost uncontrollable.

He grimaced as he swung a leg over his Stallion, his eyes momentarily falling upon the pair of guards who were holding his house banners up proudly.

“Arcturus, so good of you to join us – early, might I add.” Trevelyan greeted. Arcturus had never met the man, but Sirius had described him well enough after their last visit.

He ignored the disregard for his title, and simply nodded in return. “Lord Trevelyan. I thought it prudent to make all haste to your wonderful city.”

“Indeed. As you are the last of the Noble Families to arrive, the Great Council shall convene tomorrow. Chambers were prepared for you the moment we saw your banners. I shall leave my staff to see you to your chambers.” Trevelyan replied, his tone icy and his face impassive.

Arcturus nodded and stepped away from the horse after giving it a final pat on the neck. They had ridden hard throughout the day – stopping for only an hour to feed and water the animals before continuing on.

The journey had started at daybreak, and they had thundered over the drawbridge of Blackstone at a full gallop. It had been many years since Arcturus had ridden in such a way – indeed, he could clearly recall the lessons his father had insisted on when he was a child. He had loved the feel of the wind whipping through his hair, and the rhythm of the horse below him.

As he had gotten older, and he found himself taking on more responsibilities, he had distanced himself from riding – he’d always make time for it _next_ month, or the month after. On and on it had continued for years – at first during his betrothal, then throughout his marriage, and even as a widower. How many years had he made excuses to himself? How long had it simply been a habit?

He shook his head slightly, as if to dislodge the thoughts running amok in his skull. It was the hindsight of age that seemed to trouble him the most these last few years. His eyes flickered to Sirius, who was quickly giving his own steed a quick pat goodbye. He watched as the horses for the entire company were led toward the edge of the courtyard.

Arcturus looked around at the eyes that were still trained on him. There were dozens of Nobles, all displaying a number of various sigils that he recognised from a dozen different tomes. Some were prominent families in Britain, while others had long since retreated into this realm and away from the frontier.

A kindly looking gentleman approached them and offered a short bow. “My Lord, I am Steward Hornette, if you’ll follow me, I’m sure you would like to freshen up before the evening meal?”

“Aye, that would be appreciated, thank you.” Arcturus nodded in reply, falling into step behind the man, Sirius at his side. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the guards being led to another doorway that no doubt would lead to the Barracks.

The small crowd of Nobles parted before them easily, the slight murmured greetings and the curious stares revealed nothing to him, and so he chose to ignore them.

The inside of the castle was much like Harry and Sirius had described it. He knew Sirius had once visited with Orion when he was a small boy, but it had been once, and Sirius had barely been older than six – hearing the descriptions of the castle was nothing compared to looking upon it himself.

The Steward led them through the corridors, and Arcturus made note of the path in his mind. They travelled down three different corridors and up no less than six floors via spiralling stone steps. When the Steward finally stopped and made a grand, sweeping gesture at a large door, Arcturus had to stop himself from weeping in joy. He didn’t know what had been harder, riding all day, or forcing his battered body up all of those steps.

“Your quarters, my Lords.” The Steward smiled toothily. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction. The evening meal will be in an hour if you wish to freshen up.”

“Thank you, that will be all.” Sirius replied, watching the man carefully as he walked away after a small bow. When he finally disappeared around the corner of the corridor, the two of them stepped into the room and took it all in.

Everything was draped in the house colours of House Black, with the silver serpent emblazoned on it proudly. The hearth crackled, and the room was warm and comfortable – a stark difference to the cold and dreary day they had spent atop their horses.

“Wash yourself and be ready as soon as you can.” Arcturus grunted as the two of them shrugged their cloaks off. Their leather armour creaked and groaned as they moved – or was it simply his bones? He couldn’t tell at this point.

Sirius gathered his saddlebag and made his way to a door on the right-hand side of the room, while Arcturus moved to the left.

He went through the routine of washing and dressing himself absently – all his thoughts focused on the morning to come. What would be discussed? If only he had some way to gather the information for himself. It was a downside to having never cultivated a reputation in the Capitol’s politics. In the Wizengamot, he had a number of informants throughout the various families, and as such, he could more often than not make educated guesses based on information he obtained – it allowed him to remain one step ahead of his political rivals. Here, he had no such advantage.

With his hair still damp and tied in a knot at the back of his head, Arcturus stepped from the room and patted down his fresh leather doublet. It was plain and unassuming, cinched at the waist by a dark leather belt with silver accents on it, while the silver serpent of his house was coiled proudly on his left breast.

He entered the room just as Sirius did – his appearance similar to his own. He knew, like himself, Sirius had his wand holster strapped to his arm underneath the long-sleeved doublet he wore.

The two nodded to one another before they made their way back through the door – two of their household guard had taken up position outside their door and stood to attention when they came into view.

He looked at them once, nodded, and began to move back towards the Great Hall. The heavy footfalls of the guards flanking them was a reassuring sound in the otherwise silent halls.

The descent down the stairs was much easier than the ascent, Arcturus noted, frowning when he realised he would have to return to his quarters later on. He let out a quiet sigh as they came to the ground floor and began meandering through the corridors.

When they finally came into sight of the large oak doors, there was a small crowd waiting to be let in. He spotted men and women of all ages – some young with what appeared to be well behaved children, and others older with men and women even older than Sirius at their sides.

“Ah, if it isn’t Lord Black.” A rotund man with the sigil of a leaping whale on his breast called out – Arcturus rather thought the man resembled his coat-of-arms a little too much. The man had a large, bushy grey beard that appeared a little greasy, and a bald head that glistened with the early signs of perspiration.

“Lord Minks,” He replied with a small smile, recognising the sigil easily enough. “An honour.” Arcturus inclined his head a little. “May I present my heir, Sirius Black.”

Sirius stepped forward and bowed to Lord Minks and placed his hand over his heart as he did so. Arcturus then watched as Sirius turned his attention to the young woman at the Lord’s side and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “My Lord, my Lady, truly a pleasure.”

Arcturus had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the little sigh that escaped the young lady’s lips as she brought her hand to her breast, fanning herself lightly with her free hand. The Lord Minks simply guffawed and slapped his heir on the back heartily.

“I’d heard you Blacks were charmers – you’ve got my granddaughter all in a bother. Good show, lad.”

Sirius appeared to stumble a little under the force of the blow but grinned devilishly at those that had gathered around them. Arcturus noted the assortment of sigils – the Eagle of Ravenclaw, the Lion of Gryffindor, the Unicorn of Snowpear, the Rose of Selpie, the three flames of Shore – there were more than he could count.

Any further conversation was halted by the sounds of the large doors opening, as all the heads in the corridor turned to look. From his place towards the back of the crowd, Arcturus caught a glimpse of the impressive Dragon Throne set all the way in the back atop a tall pedestal – no doubt it towered over all those in the room.

Sat just below it and to the right was Carth Trevelyan, at the high table sat in an opulent chair that was fashioned after the Griffon of his house. A large trestle table was stretched before him, covered in fine silver cutlery. At a lower level were more long trestle tables, though, it seemed, that the cutlery was of a lesser quality.

The crowd shuffled forward as the first names were called, “Lord Tytos Gryffindor, and his heir Lancel Gryffindor!” A pair of broad looking men, each with impressive beards strode into the hall with their heads held high and their shoulders pushed back. Both took a seat upon the high table by Trevelyan.

“Lord Eddard Ravenclaw, and his heir, Jaxar Ravenclaw!” This time, an absolutely ancient looking man shuffled forward with the help of a man much closer to Arcturus’s own age entered the hall. They, like those of Gryffindor joined Trevelyan up at the high table. Lord Eddard looked close to dozing off the moment his arse touched his seat.

“Lady Regent Kyra Serrett, and the Lord Markas Serrett!” An attractive, middle aged blonde woman strode forth, with a small child at her side. Unlike the previous Lords, she sat herself at one of the lower tables. If he remembered correctly, the Serrett’s were just as powerful as the Ravenclaw’s and the Gryffindor’s. Perhaps this was a small glimpse at a political rivalry – if so, could he exploit such an opportunity?

“Lord Alix Selwyn, and his heir, Lady Vysenna Selwyn!” A pair of strikingly blonde heads stepped from the crowd, though these too sat with Trevelyan.

The crowd continued to slowly step into the hall as their names were called, until it was only he and Sirius awaiting their turn. Their guards had long since stepped to the side of the corridor, squeezing in alongside the guards brought by other Nobles.

“Lord Arcturus Black, and his heir, Sirius Black!”

Arcturus stepped into the hall and made a quick note of the families sitting on either side of Trevelyan – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Selwyn, Graves, Yaxley, Prince, and Crouch. Some, like Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were large, powerful families, while others, such as Prince and Crouch were smaller houses that could barely muster more than a few hundred men between them.

He moved to one of the lower tables, though he inclined his head slightly in Trevelyan’s direction. He received no such courtesy in return – only a cold, calculating glare. There was a seat between Lord Minks, opposite the Lady Serrett, that he moved toward. Arcturus settled himself to Lord Minks’s right, and Sirius sat next to him.

There was a small murmur of surprise as he settled himself at the table – it seemed many had assumed he would be seated closer to the Throne and Trevelyan, the up-jumped Steward that he was. He had no such inclination to rub elbows with the man – especially after he had attempted to bully Harry into marrying into House Trevelyan.

There was a specific pecking order in their world, and Carth Trevelyan, it seemed, considered himself at the top of it.

“Lord Black, you surprise us with your presence.” Lady Serrett remarked, lifting a brow ever so slightly.

Arcturus swept his eyes across the table and took in the mixed reactions he had gathered. “My Lords, my Ladies. I thought I would seek out your excellent company this evening.”

“Indeed, Lord Black. Can’t get much better than down here!” Lord Minks chuckled, his three chins wobbling enthusiastically as he slapped Arcturus on the back. A few quiet gasps could be heard from further down the table.

While normally, the likes of Lord Minks and himself would rarely, if ever, interact – he found himself smirking at the reactions. While House Black _did_ have a reputation of power, wealth and prestige, they were still human, and after years of living with Sirius and Remus, Arcturus couldn’t help but enjoy the Lord’s company. Sirius snickered to his right.

The room quieted as there was a single clap from the high table. Carth Trevelyan’s voice boomed out across the room. “Let us enjoy this feast! Begin!”

Food appeared along the large tables instantly and their aromas instantly wafted up his nose. He found his mouth salivating as he simply stared at the food for a moment. There were all sorts – honey roasted venison, links of spicy sausages, stuffed peppers, pies of all sorts and crispy roasted chicken.

Hands reached out instantly, grasping for plates and dishes all along the table. The sounds of tearing meat, and cutlery clinking against one another was all he could hear for a few minutes. Once everyone else had full plates, only then did he reach out with his own hands, making sure to take only what other people had sampled. While he didn’t think to be poisoned under Trevelyan’s roof, for that was a great betrayal even by wizarding standards, he was still cautious. There had been many instances throughout their long history where guests had consumed tainted food and drink, and he refused to be another.

He speared a juicy venison steak onto his plate, alongside a number of small cheese-stuffed red peppers and some thin-sliced potatoes in a creamy sauce.

Despite the many years their culture had existed, it appeared table-manners were still in the medieval period. Goblets of ale and wine were splashed about as men and women made merry, and the occasional piece of flying food whistled past his nose.

To his left, Lord Minks was busy regaling the Lady Serrett about a recent hunt he had embarked on. Despite how he was warming to the man, the image of the man actively hunting for his food, or even just for sport was unfathomable. The man took up the space of three adults, and likely weighed the same – how could he sit a horse?

Opposite him, the Lady Serrett nodded politely and laughed when it was expected of her – all the while, she took small bites of her food – no doubt limited in how much she could consume through a combination of social expectations, and that uncomfortable looking bodice.

It was moments like this that he found himself longing for his Melania. She had been utterly divine, with her porcelain like skin, and her wavy brown hair. Melania and he had met at a social gathering at an event hosted by the MacMillan family, during the summer of nineteen-twenty-two. It had been a gorgeous day, and the fresh air of the MacMillan estate had allowed them all to relax and mingle.

If he closed his eyes, he could still remember walking alone through the gardens – the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots, the buzzing of the insects in the air, and the sweet smell of freshly bloomed roses. He had rounded a corner, only to stumble upon the most breath-taking woman he had ever seen.

She had been in a summer dress – it had been periwinkle, and her brown hair had been braided elegantly over her shoulder, with small gems interwoven seamlessly. Her hazel eyes had been so focused on the flowers before her, with that small mischievous smile of hers that, for a moment, the world had stood completely still. His heart still thumped painfully against his chest as he recalled that moment.

She had caught him staring, mouth open like a fool, and she had laughed. It had been a rich, genuine one, and from that moment on, he had been doomed. They had talked and meandered throughout the garden for the rest of the afternoon – for so long, in fact, that his father, Sirius, had sent one of their guards looking for him.

For the rest of that year, Arcturus spent as much time at the MacMillan estate as he possibly could. He had done everything he could to show his affections, and to see that smile once again. They had danced beneath the starlight, lay amongst the grass, and stared up at the constellations above. That following Yule, his father had organised a betrothal contract between the two of them, and he had been so happy at the news, he had wept.

They had the most incredible time together, though he remembered the heartbreak on her face when the Healers had warned her off of any more children after Orion. He had been a difficult birth, and Melania had been so incredibly weak afterwards – they worried another child would kill her. She had doted on Orion and showered him with love – as he himself had. Orion had been such a happy boy, always running around the house and playing with the Elves. Sometimes, he wondered if an imposter had returned after that first year at Hogwarts.

Orion had returned cool and distant – he treated both himself and Melania with a distance that hadn’t been there before. While he had been hurt by it, and often fought to close that growing chasm between the two of them, it had been Melania who had suffered the worst.

As Orion got older, Melania became weaker. She was regularly ill and bound to their bed, covered in a cold sweat and her limbs trembling. He had cared for her as best he could, and even all the magic in the world hadn’t been enough to save her. He had wept at her side and cradled her delicate hand between his own as he rocked back and forth on the floor.

She had died in her sleep, curled up next to him. She had looked so peaceful that at first, he thought that she had simply still been asleep. Indeed, she had passed on with the smallest of smiles on her face. He had been inconsolable for weeks – everywhere he looked, he saw her memory. He could smell her perfume on their sheets, and as he walked past her favourite chair in his office.

In that time, his own health had deteriorated as well, and the chasm between himself and his son grew further than ever. He had been bed-ridden for months, years even with the occasional temporary recovery until just before the end of the war.

Then, everything had changed.

Orion was dead – Dragonpox, apparently, and Sirius was held in Ministry custody on charges of conspiring to murder the Potters.

He had stormed into the trial of Sirius, freshly recovered from his latest illness – a souvenir of Grindelwald’s war, fully prepared to throw curses at anyone who would deny him his heir. Part of him had been hoping for a fight, almost praying for a curse to hit him – but then Sirius would have been sent to Azkaban or executed. No, he had kept it together for the boy – _his_ boy, for that is what Sirius had become over the years. A second son – the boy Melania and he should’ve had.

He sniffed quietly, tearing his eyes from those around him and skewered a red pepper with a little more force than he had intended. Sirius nudged him, and he found himself looking into the face so similar to Orion, that it sometimes hurt – though there were far more laughter lines around his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Sirius whispered, leaning over to him a little.

Arcturus nodded slowly, and clapped Sirius on the back. “Just the memories of an old man.”

Sirius scoffed around his goblet. “Please, if you’re an old man, then I’m positively fucked in a decade or two.”

Arcturus rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smirk. It was true, he _wasn’t_ old – not by a wizard’s standards, at least. He was really only middle-aged, but he knew he looked and felt far older. All thanks to that damned war of Grindelwald’s.

He found himself throwing the pepper in his mouth whole and biting down on it roughly. The immediate sweet tang of the pepper mixed with the savoury cheese in his mouth, and the sensations on his tongue distracted him for a moment.

He looked around the room, his eyes darting from face to face. Which of them were the reason for this Council? Sirius passed him a goblet of wine, and he took a small sip – the sweet fruity taste mixing deliciously with the lingering taste of the pepper and cheese.

The meal continued on, with many a Lord inevitably falling over drunk – some went so far as to pass out there in the hall, their faces buried in whatever dish they had been eating or spread across one of the benches.

With the meal having come to its inevitable conclusion, Arcturus and Sirius quietly excused themselves when it was deemed polite to do so. He had made the decision not to be the first to retire, but also not the last. As long as they were somewhere in the middle, it would pay dividends in the future.

What those dividends were, he couldn’t say, nor would he presume to attempt such a thing. For now, he would simply content himself with avoiding Trevelyan’s wrath should he feel slighted in any which way.

He found himself half carrying Sirius back to their shared apartment – the man having been taunted into joining a drinking game towards the end. Ever the competitor, Sirius had thrown himself into it, matching each opponent cup for cup until he was barely left victorious. Arcturus, who on the other hand, had kept himself to a single goblet all night, held no sympathy for the agony Sirius was likely to be enduring during the Council tomorrow.

“My Lord, allow me to assist you.” One of the House Black guards gasped, seeing him come to the top of the stairs with a giggling Sirius draped over his shoulders. Arcturus grinned and handed him to the woman.

“Yoush pr’ty la’dy.” Sirius slurred. “Shame ‘m betroiwhatsit…”

Arcturus shook his head as the guard stifled her laughter behind pursed lips. She cocked a brow in his direction, over the head of a now slightly snoring Sirius. He shook his head and chuckled quietly.

The door opened to their apartment easily enough, and he led the way towards Sirius’s chamber. He was thrown unceremoniously onto the bed – still entirely unconscious and propped on his side. Arcturus quickly pulled Sirius’s boots off and placed a small bucket by the side of the bed.

The guard left first, quickly striding from the room when Sirius began to snore noisily. A small, childish part of Arcturus was actually looking forward to the morning, if only to see Sirius suffering with a hangover.

* * *

“All rise for the Lord Trevelyan!” The speaker called into the cavernous room. The morning light filtered in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows and bathed the white marble in its warm light.

The chamber was large and circular, with a small floor-space in the centre. It was eerily reminiscent of the Wizengamot chambers, but quite obviously far older and _far_ better lit.

All around him, Lords and Ladies sat in their family seats, with their heirs sat just head and below them. Each family seat was different, depending on the family it belonged to. Some, for the smallest of families were the closest to the floor and were simple carved marble. Others, such as the Gryffindor seat were on the highest row and were decorated with motifs of the family sigil.

House Black was in an interesting position – traditionally, they were a house of equal standing and power as those such as House Gryffindor, House Potter and House Ravenclaw to name a few – the only house with more power than them were House Trevelyan. However, House Black had gone and sworn fealty to _House Potter_ , making them the most powerful Vassals in the history of the kingdom – it also had the effect of making House Potter _much_ more powerful.

Above them all, however, was a large throne-like chair that was shaped like a Griffon, with its wings flared out on either side. It was there that Carth Trevelyan stood, watching with cold eyes as all the assembled might before him, rose in respect to _him_. In deference to _him_.

“Sit.” The quiet word echoed around the chamber, and as one, they all resumed their seats. Trevelyan sat stiffly in his small throne, and Arcturus felt his lip curl a little at the sight. There was something about the man that set Arcturus’s instincts on edge.

“We are gathered in this Great Council of Lords, to discuss a most dire topic, my friends.” Trevelyan began, his voice cold and calculating as his gaze swept all before him. “The intention to incite _Rebellion_.”

Murmuring swept throughout the chamber, and Arcturus found his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in shock. Rebellion?

Trevelyan sat there for a time and allowed the murmuring to continue. Arcturus watched as his eyes continued to dart this way and that, while his hands interlocked themselves over his stomach. What was he up to?

“My Lords.” Trevelyan spoke up once more. The room silenced itself immediately, and the tension in the room was palpable. “It grieves me to say this, but we have been betrayed by the power-grasping ways of one of our most respectable houses.”

“Who is the filthy traitor?” A loud voice called out from the crowd of faces.

“Aye, let us know so we can put their head on a spike!” A woman called, furiously.

Trevelyan stood, and took two measured steps away from the throne. He gently leaned against the golden railing that stood between him and a sheer drop of twenty feet. “Lord Black, do you have anything to say?”

Arcturus felt every pair of eyes in the chamber on him in that instant. His back stiffened, and his shoulders were tense under the leather gambeson he wore. What could he mean? He had a few choice words for Carth Trevelyan, but nothing pertaining to the current situation. “Nothing that comes to mind, my Lord – though this is the first I’ve heard anything of rebellion.”

“Indeed. Pray tell then, how it was that you saw fit to _swear fealty_ to the likes of the would-be Usurper!”

Arcturus was on his feet immediately, his fists clenched and trembling in rage. “You _dare_ -“

“Careful now, Lord Black. We wouldn’t want you to sully yourself with the likes of House _Potter_ , would we?”

Arcturus felt the presence of guards just behind his family chair. He looked over his shoulder and saw two of the house guards of House Trevelyan stood behind him, both with wands in hand and their steel plate shining in the chamber’s light.

“And just what is it, _my Lord_ , that you believe House Potter has done?” Arcturus growled, spinning to look upon the impassive face of the Viscount above him.

This time, Trevelyan addressed the room at large. “My Lords, we are all well versed in our history. Our society, our very way of life is built on a careful structure based on trust, loyalty and _fealty_.” Trevelyan was pacing back and forth slowly, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

“What are we to make of it then, I wonder, when one of the most prominent families in our society – one who has only recently truly returned to the fold, swears _fealty_ to another family of equal standing? I find myself concerned for our very way of life.”

Arcturus stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“We swore fealty to House Potter because he is, for all intents and purposes, a member of House Black! There is nothing we wouldn’t do for the boy – if he weren’t the last Potter, I would make him Sirius’s heir.” He spat. He heard the guards take a slow step towards him.

“Trevelyan, call your guards off – let the man speak!” Lord Minks bellowed from the opposite side of the chamber, on the row below his own. Arcturus nodded his thanks once Trevelyan snapped his fingers and gestured for the guards to leave.

“Aye, I’d like to hear Lord Black’s side of the story!”

“Where _is_ Lord Potter? He should be here!”

“What do you all know of Lord Potter, my fellow Lords and Ladies?” Arcturus asked, moving to the railing just before Sirius’s own seat. “How many of you wondered what became of House Potter following the deaths of Charlus and James?”

“Nothing – nobody has told us a thing!” Someone hollered in return.

“Allow me to inform you of this _rebellious_ Lord, then! Harry James Potter is an eleven-year-old boy! Studying through his first year at Hogwarts in Scotland – he is a sweet boy, who loves to fly and read.” There were quiet murmurings throughout the hall. “Pray tell, Lord Trevelyan, were you planning on spinning a tale of a manipulative, power hungry young man?”

Trevelyan was silent, and Arcturus could see the flexing of his jaw muscles.

“Harry Potter is a boy who would prefer to live a quiet life, surrounded by family and live out his days in peace – he is _not_ a rebel.”

“Then why haven’t we seen him?” Someone called, their voice angry.

“You have, my Lords and Ladies! He visited the Capitol two years ago and feasted in this very castle – he sat on the right hand of Lord Trevelyan himself – my own heir can confirm it, for he was the one who brought him here.”

“Your heir will say whatever you tell him to!” The Lord of Gryffindor bellowed, jumping to his feet in outrage.

“My Lord Gryffindor, if you can get Sirius to do something by simply telling him to do it, you are a much more powerful and wiser man than I.” There were a number of quiet chuckles in the room, and the Lord of Gryffindor slumped into his seat red-faced and furious.

“You have yet to provide a valid reason as to why you swore _fealty_ to a house of equal standing, Lord Black.” Trevelyan spoke up once more. “I do not doubt your sincerity in that you love the boy dearly, but how can we be sure you are not under the _Imperius_ , or other mind-altering influences?”

Arcturus was stunned silent. Did Trevelyan really just insinuate that an eleven-year-old child was capable of magic dark enough as to cast one of the _Unforgivables_? A child, who had _survived_ the Killing Curse itself?

“Are you implying, my Lord Trevelyan, that an eleven-year-old is capable of such _hatred_ , as to cast an _Unforgiveable_?” He asked, his voice sharp as he gripped the railing before him in a white-knuckled rage.

“Of course, he isn’t!” Someone called out. It didn’t matter who they were – Arcturus’s vision was focused on the man above him.

“I would hear from Lord Trevelyan, Ser!” Arcturus growled.

“Anything is possible – what do we know of this _boy_ , hm?” Trevelyan asked, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

“You knew enough to attempt to bully him into marrying your daughter.” Arcturus spat acidly. The room went silent.

“Lies!”

“Impossible!”

“Lord Trevelyan is honourable – he wouldn’t _dare_!”

“How _dare_ he!”

The voices all spoke out at once, and Arcturus only caught the occasional line from some stranger or another. Many Lords and Ladies stood in outrage, all of them yelling at either Lord Trevelyan, or himself. Trevelyan, simply ignored it all, instead focusing his gaze on Arcturus.

“Silence!” Trevelyan eventually bellowed.

There were a brief handful of moments where the rising tension in the room was thick enough to have been cut by a knife. The magic that swirled within the room was wild, erratic, and intoxicating. _This_. This was why Arcturus loved politics – of course, he _loathed_ the situation he was currently in. There was nothing worse than being ambushed with false allegations.

“This Great Council was called to put to rest these malicious rumours that reached my ears. I would have us all leave this Council as strong friends allies – stronger than when we arrived, even!” Trevelyan announced.

It was an interesting turn of events. What was Trevelyan’s game? What little he knew of the family, he knew them to be shrewd and calculating in recent years, and the powerful performance Trevelyan was putting on attested to such claims.

The Trevelyan line was a powerful one. In the absence of a Royal Family, they had taken Stewardship of the kingdom, and over the many hundreds of years, had built firm alliances and ties to many of the most powerful of the ancient families.

House Trevelyan, through its alliances and oaths of fealty could call on more than three quarters of the power of the realm – so why had Carth attempted to tie House Potter to his own line? There were so many questions that Arcturus simply didn’t have the answers to, and it infuriated him to no end.

“Aye, House Trevelyan has always had the best for the realm in mind!”

A chorus of agreement rose up throughout the hall, and Arcturus felt Sirius step up beside him. Arcturus closed his eyes for a moment and simply allowed himself to bask in the presence of his Grandson for a moment.

“Let this Great Council remain until such a time, that we can discover the root of these accusations and take appropriate measures. I shall _not_ have a rebellion, even a rumoured one, break out during my lifetime. It is simply unfathomable to me – what next, Muggle-born husbands and wives for our children? _No_ , we shall be getting to the bottom of this.” Trevelyan asked the room, receiving a loud stomping of feet and cheers in response.

“We seem to be in a spot of trouble.” Sirius muttered, his eyes glancing around the room. “Do you think we’ll be able to get out of it?”

Arcturus sighed. “I don’t know, Sirius. I don’t know.”


	16. Harry IX

The letter had been the start of his sour mood. It had come on a Friday morning – no doubt Hedwig had flown the entire night; she had looked utterly exhausted as she had landed before his plate of eggs and bacon. Her blinks had been slow, her breathing heavy and she had been teetering dangerously from side to side.

He had never seen his small familiar in such a state – usually she would make at least one stop on her journey to and from Nottinghamshire.

He had immediately poured a small goblet of water for her, and Hermione had scooped the bird into her lap. Poor Hedwig had been so tired, she had fallen asleep in his friend’s lap, the bushy haired girl idly stroking her soft feathers with the backs of her fingers.

Neville, who had been sitting on his left, with Hermione on his right, had leaned over his shoulder and seen the state of Hedwig. His shocked gasp had drawn the attention of Daphne and Tracey, who had instantly leapt from their bench and hurried over, sitting down opposite the Gryffindor Trio.

Some of the House of Gryffindor had objected to the Slytherin Duo sitting among them, though they had been ignored easily. All focus had been on the exhausted owl in Hermione’s lap. Daphne had taken one look at the owl and immediately began to cut up slices of bacon into small chunks. Tracey, on the other hand, had darted over to Hagrid, who had been at his usual up at the teachers table.

The gentle giant had wasted no time in joining them, kneeling on the flagstone floor of the Great Hall, and gently examined the bird. She hadn’t been injured, thankfully – just exhausted. A good day or two of rest, and she would be right as rain, he had said.

It was during the giant’s examination that Harry had noticed the note tied to her left leg. With gentle fingers, Harry had removed it and unrolled it between his fingers. Hagrid had departed shortly after that, his heavy steps heading back to his breakfast.

The parchment was small and stained with ink – it had every appearance of having been written quickly in Sirius’s messy scrawl.

Harry’s eyes had darted left to right three times, having to re-read it twice to make sure he understood what had been said. Like that, Harry had been left with a dozen or more questions, and a sense of disappointment of having to stay at the school over the holiday break.

Originally, the plan had been to have Daphne and Neville stay with them at Blackwall – it would have been the longest visit that either of them had ever had, and they had all been excited. Daphne had planned out which books she would devour from the Black Library, while Neville couldn’t wait to wander the extensive gardens in the middle of winter.

Harry had just been excited to have his friends nearby.

Hermione and Tracey had plans of their own – Tracey had a holiday with her parents booked in the Alps, and Hermione had her parents to return to in Reading. Likely, his two newest friends would only have the opportunity to visit Blackwall over the summer break.

As a result, on the day that everyone was set to leave, his four friends had found him buried in a stack of books in the Library, going over the different uses of Charms in Defence Against the Dark Arts. If he was to be stuck in the school, he may as well be productive while he was there.

Professor McGonagall had awarded him points for being productive and proactive with his studies. Harry had accepted the points grudgingly – he would much rather spend the holiday in the company of friends and family, sitting around a table with a full belly from Woopy’s cooking. What had the enthusiastic Elf planned for this year? A bird? Pork? Beef?

He could still remember the sight of the previous year’s meal – the smell of the turkey wrapped in streaks of bacon, and the skin a crispy gold brown. His stomach rumbled loudly from his corner in the Library, and with how empty the castle had been over the last few days, he wouldn’t be surprised if Madame Pince came over to tell him to keep it down.

The Library had become his refuge. He would wake early in the morning, break his fast in the Great Hall – one of only five Gryffindors left in the castle, and then meander his way to his favourite corner amongst the bookshelves.

He had found the table in the second week of the term – it was a small nook hidden amongst the last row of bookshelves before the Restricted Section. It was a moderate sized oak table, with scuffs and smears from years of students having sat here and was nestled in front of a large window.

The weather had been awful in the time since his friends had left – almost as if it were trying to match his glum mood. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the thin glass was a steady rhythm to his reading, and he found himself losing track of time.

As it was, his current book was absolutely fascinating – _Applications of Spiritual Magic_. There was something about the way it was written, the way the words flowed into one another seamlessly that he found utterly enthralling.

He had never heard of _Spiritual_ Magic before – of course, he knew of _Elemental_ witches and wizards – those who had an affinity for certain elements. He also knew some basic Rituals and had even experienced the Family Magic first-hand at Arpton Keep.

If he understood the, admittedly advanced, text, Spiritual Magic was most associated with Seers and Prophets – those witches and wizards with a unique connection to the wild, chaotic magic of the world.

The applications were obscure for the most part – many of them being jobs he knew nothing about, or had never heard of before, but there was one entry that caught his eye: _Curse-Breaker_.

Harry had heard of Curse-Breakers, though only in passing conversation between Arcturus and Sirius. They were witches and wizards who spent their lives diving into tombs and making them safe – most commonly for _Gringotts_. More recently, he had overheard Ron Weasley spinning tales of his eldest brother, one William Weasley, who was apparently living in Egypt as one.

The idea sounded fascinating, and so full of adventure! He could imagine himself leaping into a tomb and tearing down Wards and Curses that had been in place for thousands of years. There would be some great treasure at the end, and a final trap – something that would make his escape daring and death-defying. He let out a quiet sigh and propped his head on his hand – it was a nice dream, he supposed.

The sad reality was that he would likely never be able to find a profession he could enjoy. If his parents were still alive, he may have had a few years to enjoy a short career, but inevitably he would have to leave it behind when he took up leadership of the Potter family.

As he was the only living heir to the family, it meant that the responsibilities that came with it would fall squarely on his shoulders when he came of age. He would graduate Hogwarts and likely become the youngest member of the Wizengamot in this generation – and that wasn’t even considering the responsibilities with the Capitol.

It would have been nice to find something he could enjoy for a few years. There were so many professions out there in the world – which would have suited him best? The life of an Auror sounded interesting – chasing down Dark Wizards and delivering justice. Teacher? He liked the idea of passing on what he had learned – could he have taught in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts? There were so many possibilities.

He sighed again and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Perhaps teaching at Hogwarts wasn’t the best of ideas in any event. Ever since Halloween, students had been quietly distancing themselves from him. It wasn’t anything overt – _Merlin forbid_ some of the Purebloods in the castle say anything to his face directly. No, it was the little things – like not involving him in a conversation in the Common Room or sitting a little further away than necessary at the table or in class.

He still had his group of friends, and he would always be thankful for them. He couldn’t imagine his life without Daphne and Neville – even the imagined absence of Tracey and Hermione hurt immeasurably. The two new girls had become a welcome addition to his life. Tracey was witty and a constant source of joy, while Hermione was, well… she was _Hermione_.

Perhaps it had been the life-threatening situation the two of themselves had found themselves in, but he found himself comfortable around the girl in a way he couldn’t replicate with Daphne or Tracey. Admittedly, his experience with the fairer sex was largely limited to a Nanny Elf and two avian familiars, but there was something so _easy_ about his relationship with the Muggle-born.

The two of them had grown close in the time since he had woken in that bed. The two of them would study together, even if the other three were unavailable – they would discuss the books they had read and compare their notes. Daphne was a studious girl, but for the first time in his life, Harry felt like he had a _peer_ – someone who’s love of books and new information rivalled his own.

Of course, she still trashed him academically. He frowned at the book in front of him in thought. Hermione had a _brilliant_ mind – but there was something that she was doing, or reading, that was absolutely thrashing him in their tests. The practical applications of magic, he had her beat – but the theory? She simply outclassed him.

Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair and ran his hands down his face. Perhaps his studying in the Library over the holiday would give him a small edge on her in the coming term – though he wouldn’t attempt to convince himself that it would last any longer than a week.

Not only had his friendship with the bushy-haired girl been welcome, but so had her own blossoming friendship with Daphne and Tracey. It had quickly become apparent that he and Neville were forever outnumbered – for the first time, they found themselves on the receiving end of not only _Daphne_ ’s sharp wit, but Tracey and Hermione’s.

Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the memory of Tracey berating Neville in their latest _Potions_ class. It had been a double-lesson, and a practical at that. Professor Snape had made them brew a _Wiggenweld Potion_ – a common enough healing potion. Neville had been partnered with Tracey, while he had been partnered with Hermione – Daphne had drawn the short-straw and had been partnered with Seamus and had kept a healthy distance from the boy the entire time.

He hadn’t seen what had happened exactly, but he could still hear the sound of the odd _gloop_ sound as the potion shot out of the cauldron and soaked both of his friends. Harry hadn’t been able to help himself – when he had turned at the sound, he had nearly fallen to the floor at the sight of his two friends covered in a thick, green goo that dripped from their noses. Before Snape could make a comment, however, Tracey had picked up their textbook and began beating Neville on the shoulder with it.

It had been the funniest thing he had seen all year.

Both he and Neville had lost Gryffindor fifty points each, and Seamus, who had blown up his cauldron not five minutes later had lost them another fifty. It had been well worth it. He wondered if that had been the first time Snape’s dungeon classroom had been filled with the sound of laughter – he couldn’t imagine the greasy-haired teacher laughing. Harry suppressed a small shudder at the thought of the man laughing. What _would_ Snape find amusing? Potion puns? Billowing robe banter? Wretched witticisms?

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the table. It seemed his time in the Library was well and truly over if he was thinking of ways to amuse the bat-like Potions professor. He gathered the books on the table slowly, making sure to be gentle with their fragile covers – some looked older than Dumbledore.

He went through the usual motions of placing the books back on their shelves, each sliding back into place among their literary companions _just so_. There was a sense of _rightness_ at seeing a bookcase full of volumes – something that tickled his innate curiosity to know everything he could. How many years could he spend in the confines of this room, simply absorbing all he could? It was ever so tempting – perhaps, years in the future, he would do his own research into magic at Arpton Keep, or Rosestone Castle and make use of the Library here.

With the books safely stored away, Harry began his slow journey back to Gryffindor Tower. With a quick _Tempus_ , he discovered it to be mid-afternoon. What could he do for the rest of the day? Clara was hunting, and Hedwig was at Blackwall now that she was recovered. He passed a Ravenclaw second year, and he found himself smiling politely. They ignored him and continued on their way – he sighed quietly to himself and continued walking.

He was just passing the Great Hall when a familiar mop of red hair caught his eye. Sat there, on his own, was Ron Weasley. The boy had mostly kept to himself in the days since everyone had departed the castle, and despite how much of an arse he could be to Hermione, Daphne and Tracey, he found himself pitying the boy he saw playing chess on his own.

Harry stood in the entryway for a moment, simply watching a boy his own age that looked as alone as he felt. The two of them were the only ones their own age that had remained from Gryffindor – even all three of his elder brothers had left for a Romanian Dragon Reserve, the age restrictions forcing them to have to leave the youngest behind. He was torn with indecision for a moment before he finally set his shoulders and slowly approached the other boy.

“Ron, are you okay?” He asked, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

The boy looked up, startled. “Oh, Harry, it’s you!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It is. I noticed you sitting by yourself – would you mind if I joined you?”

“Sure!” Ron beamed, gesturing for him to take a seat. Harry slid onto the bench easily – his doublet softly squeaking as it rubbed against the wood.

“Playing chess again, I see.” He remarked, nodding toward the small set before the boy.

“Yeah – my grandfather taught me when I was little, and Bill tried to play with me when he was home during the holidays. Not as fun as Quidditch, mind you, but still fun.”

“Your grandfather – Septimus Weasley?” Harry asked, curiously. Before coming to Hogwarts, he hadn’t paid much thought to the Weasley family. They were old, much like his own, and were regarded as another Ancient and Noble family, but they were of middling importance. Their wealth had been gambled away generations before, and more often than not struggled to keep their Vassals in-line with their progressive advocacy – not to mention the fact they bred like rabbits.

“Yeah, that’s him! You heard of him, then?”

Harry shrugged. “In passing – Arcturus told me he managed to save your family from collapsing in on itself after the war, but that was about it.”

“Yeah, Dad said it had been rough – but I never really gave it much thought, you know? Besides, if anyone is going to make the family collapse, it’ll be the twins!” Ron chuckled as he palmed a chess piece and rolled it between a finger and thumb absently.

“Those two are terrifying.” Harry chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron asked after a moment as he looked at him. Ron was frowning, but it appeared more out of thought than any anger.

“Of course.”

“You’re from an old Pureblood family, right?” Ron began slowly – it seemed he at least remembered Harry’s reluctance to talk of his blood-history. Harry suppressed a sigh as he shifted to get more comfortable. “But your Mum was Muggle-born. Why are you so traditional?”

Harry mulled the question over in his head for a moment and pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t say I’m _traditional_ – at least, not in the sense that you probably mean. I was raised by Arcturus Black and taught a lot of the finer aspects of our society.” He began slowly, watching as Ron nodded slowly. “That isn’t to say he’s moulded me after himself – I have my own views and opinions on all sorts of things. I just tend to keep them to myself, is all.” Harry shrugged. It was with a small jolt of surprise that he realised this was the longest conversation he’d had with his fellow Gryffindor that hadn’t been about Quidditch.

“But… you wear those old robes.”

“Aye, I wear them – just as my father wore them before me, and his father before him. It’s my way of honouring the man I never knew.” Harry replied, shrugging a single shoulder. “Not to mention – they’re comfier than they look.” He grinned.

Ron snorted and looked down at his home-made jumper. Harry could see the time that had been put into it, but the material looked itchy and it was frayed around the hem. “Probably is.” Ron grinned.

“That isn’t to say that I dislike how Muggle-born dress, or families like your own – jines look quite comfortable.”

“Jeans.” Ron corrected him with a snicker.

“Jeans.” Harry chuckled, looking around the room absently. “I notice you don’t have Scabbers with you?”

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes again. “Nah – I left him in my room. There’s more cats around here than I thought there would be. Can’t afford to replace him if one of the buggers got him.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Where’s Clara?”

“Oh, off hunting, no doubt.”

“It must be wicked that you’ve got your own Phoenix – what’s it like?” Ron gushed, turning to face Harry fully.

“She’s certainly a handful. I didn’t know what she was when I first found her – she was this little featherless thing with big black eyes that I found in a bush.” Harry grinned, holding his hands out as he described her size. “Ever since she matured, she’s always been there. She’s playful, and mischievous, but I wouldn’t have her any other way.”

“Where did you come up with her name? I heard that you just _know_ when a name’s right, y’know?” Ron propped his chin on his hand.

“I named her after someone I met.” Harry murmured. For a moment, his eyes lost focus and he was atop that horse again, marvelling at the wicked-looking weapon in Clara Appleton’s hand as she called him _Little Lord_ and grinned at his questions.

“Must’ve been someone special to name a _Phoenix_ after them.” Ron murmured, snapping Harry’s focus back to reality.

“They were.” He nodded solemnly. He shook himself after a moment and clapped his hands quietly. “Enough about me – how about a game of chess? I’m warning you, I’m utter shite.”

“Sure – here, let me just set up the board.”

They played for a number of hours – at least, long enough for the evening meal to be called for. Harry had lost each and every game he played with Ron, but he didn’t particularly mind – it was nice to see the red-haired boy laugh and joke. Ron had been almost as sullen and withdrawn as he had been.

The Hall quickly filled with the scant few who remained in the castle – only two dozen or so students and almost the entire faculty. Upon Dumbledore’s arrival, the tables were gently moved to the side and a number of House Elves, all dressed in a small toga-like uniform with the Hogwarts sigil on their breast, popped into the centre of the room with a large circular table and matching chairs.

The teachers sat first, quickly followed by the older students. The younger ones, such as himself and Ron simply stared in confusion at the scene before them. Harry knew in his head that they were no doubt meant to join them, but for some reason his body wouldn’t react.

“Come, Harry – Mr. Weasley, join us!” Dumbledore called from where he had taken his own seat. He sat with Professor McGonagall on his right, and Professor Flitwick on his left.

Harry shook himself from his stupor and settled himself into a chair to the left of Professor Cantrill – the young Enchantment Professor offering him a kind smile. He had seen her about the castle once or twice, and she had always been polite and greeted him by name – though how she knew his name was a mystery to him.

On Harry’s left was Professor Reyne, his _Magical Theory_ Professor – she was older than Professor Cantrill, but only by a decade or two. The whispers among his peers were that she had modelled herself after Professor McGonagall – she was strict, but fair. She preferred blue and white robes and her blonde hair was always tied back – rumour was that she was likely to become the next Head of House, whenever that would be.

Ron sat a little further down the table in the only free chair left – Harry offered him a small smile and a nod, to which Ron offered his own smile and a shrug. Ron was sat between a Ravenclaw sixth year and a Hufflepuff seventh year.

“Excellent – as there are so few of us left in the castle, I thought it might be nice for us all to eat together, rather than spread out across the Hall.” Dumbledore smiled kindly. Harry noticed Professor Snape roll his eyes a little.

With a small clap, the dishes on the table filled with an assortment of food. There wasn’t as much as there normally would be during a term-meal, but then, there were far fewer mouths to feed.

Harry allowed the Professors on either side of him to fill their plates before reaching out to help himself. He chose a simple meal of _Toad in The Hole_ and helped himself to a decent portion. The smell of the spicy sausages and the large Yorkshire Pudding made his mouth to water.

He poured some gravy onto his dish and quietly enjoyed his meal. All around him, the sounds of cutlery on plates and the quiet sighs that accompanied a good meal whispered around the table. As always, the Hogwarts Elves had outdone themselves.

The sausage melted on his tongue, and the gravy was thick and rich. There were slices of carrot mixed in with it all, and short stems of broccoli that crunched as he ate them. For a few blissful minutes, he wasn’t alone in a castle and he could simply enjoy a good meal.

Sooner than he would have liked, the meal was over, and everyone relaxed in their chairs – though it seemed Ron had made it his personal mission to clear every last dish on the table.

“Harry, how are you finding your break?” Professor Cantrill asked, as she delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

Harry folded his hands into his lap and looked at the woman beside him. She appeared to be in her thirties, and she had long dark hair that was tied back in an elegant up-do that must have required magic to achieve. Her green eyes peered at him, and a friendly smile was on her lips – though it appeared more a playful smirk than anything. No doubt Sirius would have liked her.

“It’s going well, Professor. I spend most of my days in the Library – I just read the most fascinating book on Spiritual Magic earlier.”

The Professors brow rose a little. “Indeed? I’m surprised you could understand half of what you read, Harry. Aspects of magic such as that are usually third- or fourth-year material. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Professor. I just enjoy reading.” Harry shrugged with a small smile.

“Indeed – if you keep it up, I dare say we’ll run out of books in the library by the time you graduate.” She grinned at him.

“And then I’ll have the Potter and Black libraries to fill the void.” He replied with his own grin.

Professor Cantrill laughed at that and placed a hand to her chest. “Oh – you inherited Lily’s love for books then, it seems.”

Harry’s gaze focused on the woman beside him. “You knew my mother?”

Professor Cantrill’s smile lessened somewhat at the question, and her eyes focused on somewhere over his shoulder. “That’s right – we were friends while we were here.” She paused as her green eyes focused on his face. “The world is a little less without her.”

“I had no idea…” Harry murmured – the other conversations around the table were irrelevant to him now. Harry had learned a little of his mother through Sirius and Remus, but it had been stories from after she had become involved with his father, or stories of how his father had attempted to win her affection over the years. There was precious little he knew of her before then.

“You look just like him, you know. James, I mean.”

“Except for my eyes – Sirius says they’re my mother’s.” Harry finished, with a sad smile. “I’d have liked to have known her.”

“If what I’ve heard of you so far has been true, you’re more like her than you know – though I hear you have your father’s cheek.” Professor Cantrill chuckled. She turned slightly in her chair towards him.

A question bubbled up from deep within him, yearning to have the words spoken. It was a mounting pressure in his throat, and it almost hurt to keep it contained. After all, he barely knew the woman before him – of course, she was a Hogwarts Professor, and therefore she was to be trusted with his well-being in mind, but apart from that, he knew nothing of her.

“How well did you know my mother?” The question forced itself past his lips, and Harry had to fight the urge to scowl as he gripped the arms of his chair – the varnished wood creaking a little as his knuckles turned white.

The Professor was quiet for a moment, and he found himself under her gaze. Her eyes swept back and forth over him before settling on his eyes after a moment. There was something in her eyes, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

“She was my best friend.” She said after a moment.

“Do you…” Harry began, and for a moment his throat seized up. “Do you think you could tell me about her? When you have time, of course – I wouldn’t want to impose, or assume…”

The Professor held up a hand and chuckled quietly under her breath. “I would love to, Harry.” She smiled, and Harry felt something in his chest swell. He would learn more about his mother! He couldn’t help the beaming smile that split his face.

“I… I don’t know where to start.” Harry chuckled as he ran his hand through his loose hair. What did he want to know first? What were her hobbies? What did she do in her free time? What was her favourite spot in the castle? There was so much he wanted to know!

“That’s okay – how about I tell you a little secret?” The older woman mock-whispered, leaning in as if it were some great conspiracy. Harry found himself leaning in too.

“Of course!”

“I was the one who persuaded Lily to go to Hogsmeade with James!”

Harry gasped and leaned back a little as Professor Cantrill held a finger to her lips and winked at him playfully.

“But… Sirius said,” Harry began, his eyes wide as he remembered the tale of _James Potters Master Plan to Woo Lily Evans_. It was a wonderful story of pranks and determination, and the resulting maturity of James Potter as he grew into a strong young man.

How much of it was true?

“Oh, no doubt Sirius told you about how James pranked all of Lily’s dates on their Hogsmeade trips?” Harry nodded as the Professor paused for his answer. “That’s all true – what he _forgot_ to tell you; was I was one of Lily’s room-mates. It was how we met. Girls talk, and we notice things boys often don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Professor Cantrill _giggled_ and held a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself when you’re a little older. Besides, Lily always thought James was perfectly charming – just a little immature.”

Harry sat back in his chair and ran a hand down his face – he could hear the blood pumping in his veins. “I don’t know what to say. Does Sirius or Remus know?”

Professor Cantrill snorted into her goblet as she lifted it. “I doubt it. Sirius, while talented with charming the girls of Hogwarts, was about as clueless as the rest of them – although I remember Amelia setting him straight in the corridors once or twice.”

Harry snickered at the thought of Sirius being given what-for.

“Remus… He was always a shy one. He was more interested in his books than his classmates. How is he doing, by the way? I hear he’s the Steward of House Black now.”

“Moony’s alright – he’s a little ill at the moment, and Arcturus and Sirius were called away on urgent business, so that’s why I’m here. I couldn’t have asked for better people to raise me.” Harry smiled sadly.

“Indeed – you’ve become a fine young man, Harry. No doubt you’ll be the talk of the castle in a few year’s time.”

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he scratched his jaw absently. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He replied awkwardly.

The Professor chuckled again as she crossed one long leg over the other. “You’re a _Potter_ , Harry. Your lot don’t do anything by half.” She said, rolling her eyes playfully – Harry couldn’t help but grin.

For the first time in their conversation, Harry noted that the table and the hall had emptied, and the sky through the windows was dark. How long had they sat and talked?

“My, it seems we lost track of the time. Why don’t you get back to your Common Room, and we’ll continue this another time, hm?” The Professor suggested with a smile. “Wouldn’t want you to be caught by mean old Filch past curfew, would we?”

“No, Professor.” Harry grinned, standing and offering a small bow. The Professor raised an eyebrow but smiled and nodded.

“Oh, and Harry?” She said, just as he turned to leave the Hall. When he turned to look at her, she grinned at him. “When we’re in private – call me Hope.”

“Yes Prof-“ He began before he stopped himself. “Yes, Hope.” He said, bowing once more and striding from the Hall.

Perhaps these few weeks without his friends wouldn’t be so bad after all.

On December twenty-fifth, Harry found himself walking out of his room slowly. He was dressed in a long, loose tunic that hung down to his mid-thigh and was baggy on his athletic frame, and his usual dark breeches were tucked into his boots, while his hair was tied loosely at the back of his head.

As he stepped from the small communal area that he shared with his fellow Gryffindors, he could hear the sounds of laughter reach him from the Gryffindor Common Room at the bottom of the stairs.

His books clicked against the marble stairs as he meandered down them, simply basking in the laughter and glee. His mood had improved somewhat ever since that fateful meal with Professor Cantrill – they had spent some time together since then, and Harry had learned more of his mother than he had ever expected to.

For instance, one of her hobbies had been collecting flowers from the Hogwarts grounds and preserving them with a series of Charms in an old scrapbook. Another had been photography – taking any opportunity she could to snap photos of her friends.

It wouldn’t seem much to a casual observer, but to Harry it was everything. It was a way to connect with the woman who bore him, who protected him until her dying breath.

He came to the bottom of the stairs and smiled slightly at the sight of the six Gryffindors that were sitting around the tree opening their presents.

“Harry!” Ron called, gesturing for him to join them. The other five Gryffindors, all in the seventh year, if he remembered correctly, stopped laughing and were looking at him cautiously. He refused to let their looks bother him – in the time since the Troll, he had become almost numb to it. It was just disappointing that it had seeped into his own house.

“Hello everyone.” Harry smiled, moving to sit in one of the plush chairs a little removed from the rest of them.

“Happy Christmas,” Was echoed throughout the room quietly – though far more enthusiastically from the local Weasley boy.

“Here, Harry – you’ve got some!” Ron grinned, pointing at a small pile of gifts. Harry blinked, surprised. He honestly hadn’t expected any, what with Arcturus and Sirius having to go away for an indefinite time, and with Remus having been caught up with his affliction.

He had sent his own off before everyone had left the castle. He had bought Neville a number of books on Herbology from Denmark.

Daphne had received a thick tome called _Morgên y Dylwythen_ _, another book on her favourite character from history to add to her collection._

Astoria had, of course, received a dozen stuffed Hippogriffs – she’d mentioned she had wanted a Hippogriff herd just before he left for Hogwarts, and this had been the best he could do.

He had gifted Tracey tickets to see the Weird Sisters live in concert over the Summer – her favourite group, by all accounts.

Hermione had no doubt already opened her new books on wizarding society and their most popular myths and stories.

He hoped that upon their return, Sirius would appreciate the new wand holster he had bought him, and that Arcturus would like the whiskey. Remus had been tricky to buy for this year, but Harry had settled with a new trunk with his initials proudly emblazoned upon it – he’d seen Remus eyeing it in Diagon Alley.

Ron pushed the first of the pile into his lap before turning back to his own gifts. Harry peeled the paper away carefully, mindful not to damage anything inside accidentally. He was almost done when he realised he hadn’t taken the time to see who it was from. A quick glance at the paper, and he found the small note that had been stuck to it with a bit of tape.

Ah, Neville.

Harry grinned as he removed the last of the paper and grinned at the book on combat spells. He’d always found the idea of duelling utterly fascinating, and unfortunately, as first years they weren’t allowed to learn anything that even came _close_. At the very least, he’d be able to try a spell or two out over the Summer.

Harry placed the book down at the foot of the chair and moved to pick up another. There was a quiet rustle of movement as the older students all stood and began to move towards the Portrait, quietly murmuring to one another. Ron remained where he was, dressed in his light blue pyjamas and a garishly burgundy knitted jumper with a golden R on the front.

The next gift was smaller, but from the weight, it was also a book. A quick glance at the tag revealed it was from Daphne. He grinned as he pulled at the paper, only to reveal the most exquisite book he had ever seen. It was a leather-bound hard-back volume with the finest engravings he had ever seen. The title was _Myrddin Emrys: The Wandering Mystic_ , emblazoned in gold in large letters on the front cover. Already he could smell the earthy smell of the parchment – he knew what he was reading tonight, at least.

It seemed Hermione’s gift was next – wrapped carefully in a light blue wrapping paper. Harry had to resist rolling his eyes – she was even a perfectionist when it came to wrapping gifts. He opened it carefully but couldn’t help his mouth opening in surprise at the tub of saddle soap and leather conditioner in a small basket. They were the perfect gift for maintaining his leather gambeson, which begged the question – how did she know? He set the small basket to the side carefully.

Sirius’s scrawl was visible on the next, and Harry resisted the urge to shudder – what would it be this year? Exploding socks? Shampoo that turns his hair a ridiculous colour for a week? There had been many over the years, and each one made him that little bit more cautious. The paper came away easily to reveal a simple leather-bound journal with an embossed Stag, Wolf and Dog on the front.

He opened it slowly and gasped at the sight of the forward, and his eyes devoured the text before him.

_Harry, you are at Hogwarts now, and you can’t begin to understand how proud I am of the young man that you’re slowly becoming. It seems like only yesterday that I was sat on the floor in front of Poppy and Minerva while you asked where Mama and Papa were._

_I know that their loss has always been a difficult burden for you to bear. I know that Remus, Arcturus, and I could never compare to your parents, and each day I wish that they could look upon you the same way I do – as a proud parent._

_I’m not James or Lily, nor do I wish to replace them in your heart. but I will stand behind you when you take your rightful place in the coming years. Know that you may always turn to me in your darkest moments for support._

_In this book, you will find a number of notes that we Marauders passed between ourselves over the years as we decided our names. It is my hope that you can feel closer to your father, and one day add your own notes and name and pass it down to your own children._

_Know that I love you dearly, and that those who have left us are never truly gone._

_Sirius_

Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes on the long, baggy sleeve of his tunic. He cleared his throat quietly and thumbed through a few pages. There were notes in Sirius’s handwriting, some in Remus’s and others in his fathers. Slowly, gradually, Harry realized he was seeing his father’s penmanship for the first time in his life.

He traced the lazily looping letters with the tips of his fingers and let out a quiet laugh as his shoulders shook slightly.

“You alright, Harry?” Ron asked, startling him for just a moment.

Harry sniffed once more and wiped at his eyes roughly. “Yeah, yeah I’m alright. Just an unexpected gift, is all.” He said, smiling weakly. Ron looked at him for a long moment before nodding.

“What is it?”

“A scrapbook of notes between my father, Sirius and Remus when they were at Hogwarts – trying to pick their nicknames, of all things.” Harry grinned, sniffing a little.

“What were they?” Ron asked, pulling his knees up to his chest and taking a bite out of a mince pie.

“Sirius was _Padfoot_ , Remus was _Moony_ , and my father was _Prongs_.”

Ron was silent for a moment as he frowned, seemingly deep in thought. “Those names sound familiar.”

“You might have heard me refer to Sirius or Remus by their nicknames when I’ve been talking to Neville.” Harry shrugged, placing the book delicately atop the pile.

“Probably.” Ron shrugged, popping the rest of the pie in his mouth. After a moment, he offered Harry one, but he waved it off.

It seemed Tracey’s gift was next – a small hexagonal box that rattled as he moved it into his lap. The paper came off easily to reveal a box of Honeydukes’ chocolate. He grinned and set it aside – he’d share them with everyone when they returned.

Astoria’s gift was a small box. It was wrapped in emerald paper that was no doubt meant to represent his eyes – something she often said was almost as pretty as his hair. The paper tore off to reveal a small wooden box – it was plain and had a simple lid with some brass hinges. With a quick flick of his thumb, the brass clasp on the front flicked loose and the lid sprang back.

Inside was a small, dark velvet cushion with a small golden ball perched delicately in the middle. Harry picked it up gently with his fingers and grinned as its delicate wings unfolded and began to flap gently. Astoria had gotten him a practice Snitch!

He carefully placed it back on the cushion and smiled a little as the wings folded themselves again. It would be perfect to practice his reflexes. He placed it at the side of the small pile of books, double checking to make sure the clasp was secure.

Next was Arcturus’s gift – it was large and thin, and impossibly flexible. Harry lifted it into his lap with the same care he had given to the other gifts. The paper tore easily, and what was inside took his breath away almost as much as Sirius’s gift had done.

Harry knew there were a number of artifacts and trinkets that House Black was well known for, and it seemed Harry held a copy of one such artifact in his lap.

He had visited Grimmauld Place once. It had been a dingy London Townhouse that had seen better days, even with Kreacher maintaining it once a week. The décor had been dark and suffocating, and the House Elf heads mounted on the wall had been utterly horrifying.

He had been wandering one of the many floors to the house when he had come across the room with the family tapestry in it. All around the room, men and women of years past had stared back at him as he wandered throughout the room. He saw Sirius had been scorched off of the wall, as had a number of other names. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from staring at the small portraits of his Grandfather, Charlus Potter, and his wife, Dorea Potter née Black.

In his lap sat a copy of such a tapestry, without all the scorch marks that ruined the original. His fingers traced the name of Arcturus, followed by Sirius, who was grinning and winking up at him, and…

His breath caught in his throat.

There, directly beneath Sirius Orion Black…

_Harry James Potter_

His own face grinned back up at him – he remembered the photograph being taken. It was the day of the Quidditch game – Sirius had insisted on getting a quick photograph before he left, saying he could never have too many photos of Harry, especially on such a happy day.

Harry felt the tears well up in his eyes again.

He stood suddenly, carefully rolling the tapestry up as he did so. Ron looked at him, a puzzled look on his face as his attention was torn from the Chudley Canons magazine in his lap. Harry wasted no time, spinning on his heel and sprinting up the stairs. He threw open both doors – the one to his common room, and the other to his bedroom. Clara gave a startled squawk and flapped her wings once.

Harry flicked his wrist, shooting the wand into his hand as he approached the wall nearest the window – it had the largest space of open wall. The tapestry unfolded easily, and with a quick flick of his wand, he stuck it to the wall. He grinned and wiped at his eyes once more before holstering his wand.

He had felt so lonely over the course of the year – the homesickness had been almost overwhelming at times. He had dealt with it the only way he knew how, by throwing himself into his studies and spending time with friends. This would help immeasurably.

Harry jogged back down to the Common Room, a delirious smile on his face as he jumped the last two steps.

“What was all that about?” Ron asked, nodding up the staircase.

“Oh, Arcturus sent me a tapestry – I just wanted to get it up on the wall straight away.” Harry replied, looking at the last two gifts in his pile as he sat back down.

“Must be some tapestry.” The red-haired boy grinned, taking another bite of yet another mince pie. How the boy was always so hungry was completely beyond him.

Harry turned the thought over in his head, weighing the pros and cons. After a moment, he just settled on telling him – he had to tell _someone_! Harry leaned forward a little, “You’ve heard of the Black Family Tapestry, I take it?”

Ron perked up at that, sitting forward so quickly he almost ended up on his face. “Do I! There’s nothing like it in the world, apparently! I heard it’s really something to see, but only fa-“ Ron began, before he paused and looked at him wide-eyed. “You have a copy of it hanging in your _room_?”

Harry nodded excitedly. “Not just that… Arcturus added _my_ name to it!”

Ron sat there; mouth agape as he attempted to formulate words. “That’s wicked!”

Harry grinned excitedly, almost bouncing in his spot on the floor. He reached out and palmed the gift from Remus. The paper, like all the others, came away easily to reveal another book. This one was old and battered and looked to be stained with a little soot and was slightly singed in places.

Harry opened the cover and gasped before dropping it from limp fingers.

_Property of Lily Rose Evans_

He was holding one of the few physical connections to his mother left in the world. Harry snatched it back up and began flicking through the yellowed pages. On each page were two polaroid photographs, with a neat little time and date next to each in the margin – some had little anecdotes too, something to give context to the images that cycled in each picture.

Some were simply young girls sitting around laughing before one would notice the camera and leap towards the picture. Others were of beautiful landscapes – views of the Hogwarts grounds. The final page had two pictures and one stuck to the inside cover – almost as if it had been squeezed in, all were in colour rather than the usual black and white that had been prevalent throughout.

The first were his parents laughing and spinning around in front of the camera in their own little dance. His parents were bundled up in warm winter clothes. His mother wore a squat cap and a lilac scarf, while his father proudly had his Gryffindor scarf draped around his neck, while his hair blew wildly in the wind. The image finished with them grinning up at the camera.

The second was the two of them sat in front of the camera on a comfortable couch – they looked a little older, but only by a year or so. _Merlin_ , they were so _young_. His mother wore a simple black long-sleeved top, and blue jeans, while his father was similarly dressed in trousers and a jumper.

They were both fussing over a baby in her lap, grinning and waving at the camera.

Him.

And they looked so _happy_.

Harry breathed in deeply and stared at the photograph, watching as the image played over and over again – he could watch it for hours. He noticed small things, like the way his mothers nose crinkled a little when she smiled, and how she would thread her fingers through his messy mop of hair.

He saw how _proud_ his father looked, looking upon the two of them. He would press a kiss into his mother’s hair before tickling Harry’s chin with his finger.

The final image was of just him and his father, both asleep on a sofa – the same sofa in the previous photograph. Rather than the clean-shaven and well-groomed appearance of the man in the previous image, this man appeared exhausted and had a fair amount of scruffy stubble on his face – his glasses were crooked, and his lips were quirked into a contented smile. Upon his chest, with a small stuffed toy of a Stag was Harry, gently kicking his feet in his sleep and dozing away.

Harry looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply, willing the tears back. He blinked long and slowly. It helped, somewhat.

“Blimey, Harry – what is it this time?”

“Pictures of my parents – this is my mother’s photo-scrapbook. I own very little of either of them. So much was lost at Godric’s Hollow…” Harry murmured, gently closing the book and placing it atop the notebook from Sirius.

“I don’t know what to say.” Ron shrugged, watching as Harry dragged the last gift over to him. It was wrapped differently from the others. While it was large, it was also soft – almost like a cushion, and the paper was fastened with string. A small note was tied to the top.

“Who’s that one from?” Ron asked, scooting a little closer.

“I’m not sure. There’s no name – it just says my father left this with them before he died.” Harry muttered, first removing the string and them tearing away the paper. It was a dark kind of shimmering material.

Harry pulled it from the paper before his eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, almost falling over the chair. His breathing came in rapid bursts and the world around him seemed muffled. He knew that piece of cloth was – he’d heard the stories from Sirius and Remus. It had been thought to have been lost or destroyed when the house was blown to pieces – Arcturus had commissioned investigators to try to find it, but everything had come up empty.

And now, it lay in a pile in the Gryffindor Common Room before the Christmas tree.

Harry glared at the fabric.

He approached it slowly, bending down and threading it through his fingers. It was soft – impossibly so and didn’t look anything other than brand new. How many times had Sirius told him stories of his father using this in the school? Of pulling off the next big prank with it? It was half the reason for their success, after all.

And when his father and his mother had needed it the most, where had it been?

Harry felt a rage surge from within him, unlike anything that he had ever experienced before. It was a deep, primal thing. If this had been in the cottage, he might still have his parents – he wouldn’t be an _Orphan_.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath and felt his control snap.

For the first time in his life, Harry gave into his anger and basked in it. Whoever had kept this from him owed him answers – they were just as guilty of his parent’s murder as Voldemort was, and he deserved to look them in the eye.

Harry was unaware of the sonic boom that echoed throughout the tower, or the tinkling of thousands of shards of glass as the windows exploded – nor was he even aware of the small white dome that had snapped into existence around himself and Ron.

No, all Harry cared about right now was the cloak that threaded around his trembling fingers.

“Clara…” Harry whispered, not blinking as his companion materialised from a ball of flame on the floor. She hopped to him once and nuzzled his thigh softly – no doubt she could feel his distress, his anger. “Clara, take me to whoever sent this to me.”

It was reckless – they could be anyone. Rationally, he knew that – but there was nothing about this moment right now that he could be rational about. His Phoenix nuzzled the cloth for a second before she spread her wings to either side of her.

As he knelt, flicking his wand into his hand, he felt himself be engulfed in the bright orange flames. The light tinkling of the windows putting themselves back together reaching his ears as he left the room.

He stood immediately as he materialised in a familiar office, spinning, and pointing his wand at the startled man behind his large oak desk.

“Harry, my boy – what brings you here?” Dumbledore asked, his voice soft as his eyes darted between the wand, Phoenix and Harry.

“Why?” Harry whispered, his arm trembling in rhythm with his bottom lip. He _would not_ cry – he was _furious_!

“Why? I’m sorry, my boy, but I require some context. Why don’t we start with putting the wand down, hm?”

Harry held the cloak out before him with his left hand and Dumbledore’s eyes finally glanced at it – instantly, he appeared his age and so very sad – almost heartbroken. Harry wouldn’t be fooled.

“Ah, I see you received my gift.”

“ _Gift_?” Harry snapped, advancing towards the desk furiously. Fawkes squawked and fluttered his wings from his perch. Clara hopped onto the table between himself and the other Phoenix, her larger body shielding him from the smaller bird. She felt just as angry as he did – or was that his own anger he was feeling? “This cloak is a Potter _heirloom_ , Headmaster! Better yet, it should have been with my parents – I might still _have_ parents if they had it!”

Dumbledore slumped in his chair and ran a tired hand down his face. “Indeed, and I do not fault your anger. I take it you are who is responsible for the Wards reacting a few minutes ago?” Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before he slowly withdrew his own wand and conjured a plush chair. “Sit, and I’ll explain all. And please, lower your wand.”

Harry found he could hold his arm up any longer, even if he had wanted to. His limbs were trembling, and tears were silently running down his cheeks. He practically collapsed into the seat – Clara joined him, perching on the arm, and nuzzling the crook of his neck.

“Harry, you must understand – I would have returned it sooner if it had been in my power to do so.” Dumbledore began. “In the year nineteen-seventy-nine, your father came to me with an offer – I was doing a bit of research, you see, but that isn’t what is important right now.”

Dumbledore paused as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Harry, your father may not have always been the most _honourable_ man in Britain, but he was a pragmatic one. Before he and your mother went into hiding, he left the cloak with me, under a very strictly worded contract. He said that I could do all the research or whatever I wanted with the cloak, I just had to keep it safe; safe for _you_.”

“Why did you not give it back when they went into hiding then?” Harry demanded, rubbing the backs of his hands on his cheeks as he sniffed.

“I simply couldn’t, Harry.” Dumbledore replied, holding his hands up. “He had the contract drawn up by the law-goblins of Gringott’s, and there was no way around it – believe me, I _tried_. When word got out that Voldemort was actively _hunting_ your parents, he _wouldn’t_ let me give it back to him. He said that it was far better for me to have it and the Potter line die out than risk getting into the Dark Lord’s hands. As it is, I had to wait an extra two years so that I could ensure that you, personally, received it.”

“You should have cancelled the contract!” Harry screamed – even in his anger, he knew how notoriously iron-clad Goblin contracts were. His fury fled from him, only to be replaced with a deep and aching emptiness, so profound that he couldn’t begin to describe it. He curled in on himself, sinking to his knees, as sobs wracked his body. “I miss them so much…”

He clamped his eyes shut as his face scrunched up. There was the soft sound of a chair scraping against stone and a series of soft, padded footsteps before he found himself pulled into a strong embrace.

“There, there, Harry – I know. I know.” Dumbledore whispered, gently rocking him back and forth as he wept into the Headmasters robe.

Years of longing came to the surface, and Harry found himself grasping the robes of the man who held him. It wasn’t Sirius, or Remus, or even Arcturus, but he clung to the man like he was the only lifeline he had left.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained that way, sobbing uncontrollably, but by the end of it, he simply felt… _numb_. He was exhausted, completely, and utterly so. Dumbledore pulled back from Harry, his own eyes bloodshot and wet.

“Harry, not a day goes by where I do not feel the loss of your parents. If I could do it all over again, I would make some very different decisions – alas, the ability to turn back time is impossible, and I must live with the consequences.” Dumbledore sighed and cleared his throat. “As it is, I have their son before me – a young man, who by all accounts, is a delight to be around. You are the best of both of your parents, Harry Potter, and they would be so proud of you. Never forget that.”

Harry found the corners of his lips turning upward slightly at that thought. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic. He saw Dumbledore turn to look at Clara with a sad smile.

“Perhaps it would be best if you return young Harry here, back to his room? I believe him to be quite exhausted from the events of the day.”

Harry nodded absently and reached for the cloak that had pooled at his feet. The silky cloth bunched in his left hand, and his wand hung limply in his right – he couldn’t even bring himself to grip it properly right now.

Clara made a noise over his shoulder, and he found himself leaning into her as he sat back up. Before the flames engulfed him, Harry saw the sad look on the Headmasters face and idly wondered how true his words of comfort had been?

Were they the words of regret? Of a man who realised his mistakes and continued to live with the consequences? Or were they simply the words of a man comforting a boy, robbed of his parents to a war? How many others were out there today, orphans of Voldemort’s war?

His thoughts dwindled away as he reappeared on his bed, the canopy above him. He felt the bed shift a little and found himself smiling a little as Clara nestled herself into the quilt next to his chest – her head laying on his chest as she gazed up at him with her dark eyes.

He found the backs of his fingers gently running down her neck feathers as his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He awoke in the middle of the night, if the appearance of the moon through his window was anything to go by. He sat up slowly, first pushing himself to his elbows, and then to his hands – Clara stood and flapped her wings a little, and Harry found himself smiling tiredly at her.

While he was still exhausted, he had no real desire for sleep – he had slept the day away as it was. With the events from earlier still rampaging around in his head, he would have preferred to go for a fly on his broom – no doubt, out of the question given the time of night.

He sighed as he got to his feet, the soft noise of falling fabric pulling his attention to the cloak bunched at his feet. And here lay the crux of today’s problems – an invisibility cloak that could have kept his parents alive eleven years ago. How many more photographs would have been in that journal? Would there have been photos of him sleeping in his mother’s arms?

What about his first steps?

His first broom-ride?

His first day of school, perhaps?

Harry felt his heart break all over again but willed himself not to fall into the pit he had done earlier. No – he would remain composed and strong – for his parents. He would be strong for them.

Harry found himself wandering around his room, with the cloak thrown over a shoulder. It tickled his ear a little, or perhaps that was the hair that had come loose in his sleep – either way, he didn’t care.

He grunted quietly to himself before he moved to the door. It wasn’t locked, and it seemed someone had moved his gifts onto the small tables by the side of it at some point. Perhaps it had been Ron, or maybe one of the many Hogwarts House Elves. Either way, it didn’t matter right now – he just needed to get out of the room.

He strode across the small room, and quickly made his way down the stairs. Even the Common Room felt suffocating as he stood there for a moment.

Ignoring how queasy it made him feel, Harry ripped the cloak from his shoulder and threw the huge swathe of material over his head. It was easier to see through than he had expected and was much lighter than he thought it would be – though why he had thought it would be heavy after carrying it on his shoulder down the stairs baffled him.

He moved to the entrance to the Common Room and slipped from the Gryffindor Tower with a quiet click – though he had enough presence of mind to leave it slightly ajar. No need to wake The Fat Lady if he was going for a midnight stroll.

He moved down the stairs as quietly as he could, wincing every time his boots would scuff the marble.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Harry began walking lazily among the corridors. It was eerie, to be walking the castle at night rather than during the day – it almost felt like a tomb.

Every now and then, he would pause and listen for the faintest hint of anyone else wandering the corridors. Even then, nothing but silence answered him.

He could have been walking for minutes, or hours – he didn’t know. He stopped caring.

He found himself walking around the small Transfiguration Courtyard near Professor McGonagall’s classroom on the western side of the castle. He had sat on the wall many times with his friends over the course of the year – it was a nice spot to stop and simply watch the people around them go about their day.

Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, feeling the faint traces of those that had been there over the years. They were familiar, but so different and so unique. Some were stronger and more prevalent than others, and Harry chalked them up to the more recent students, but there was something else – something that wasn’t quite right.

Harry followed the feeling, and found his feet moving of their own accord. It was elusive but teasing at the same time, but it was… familiar. It almost felt like Arpton Keep, but that was impossible – Hogwarts didn’t have a _Ro’rim_ , did it?

Harry gasped as his foot came into contact with a wooden door and his eyes snapped open. He didn’t recognise the door, and it seemed to shimmer before him uncertainly until he reached out with his hand and grasped the handle.

The door snapped into focus, and suddenly it appeared as if it had always been there. Had he just stumbled on a hidden door? Had one of the Professors hidden it for some reason? Or had it been a student?

His curiosity got the better of him as the familiar feeling returned. He lifted the latch and shimmied inside.

The room was empty and larger than he had expected. He shrugged the cloak off, but kept it bundled in his arms. He swept his eyes back and forth, noticing only stone pillars and stone walls until…

He stepped forward a few steps and there, on a lower platform to the right of the door, was a shimmering golden mirror. He approached it slowly, that sense of familiarity getting stronger and stronger with each step. When he was close enough, he reached out and brushed the metal with his fingertips.

It snapped into focus the same way that the door had, and all of a sudden, he was struck by the magic it seemed to _ooze_. There was no other way to describe it – it simply dripped with magic.

It was large, at least twice the size of him, and the glass was milky and appeared worn towards the bottom. Above the glass, were the words _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

What did they mean?

Harry reached out and ghosted a finger across the smooth surface of the glass, blinking as a pair of figures began forming in the mist.

They were faint at first, and as they walked closer, their forms became more defined. He could make out gender, height and eventually their hair. The one on the left had brilliant copper hair that hung just past her shoulders, while the on the right had short, wild black hair that stuck up at all angles.

They came to a stop and appeared as if they were stood right behind him. The two were young, only just out of school, really. They smiled down at him, sad, but oh-so proud.

Harry dropped to his knees before the mirror, the cloak pooling at his side limply. He didn’t know how much more he could take – had he not had enough already?

The two figures knelt on either side of him, and he felt his lip quiver all over again. “Mother…” Harry whispered, earning the most beautiful smile he had ever seen from the woman before him. “Father…” Harry gasped, his eyes becoming misty. He saw James Potter nod proudly as he grinned.

“I missed you so much…”


	17. Harry X

The birds flew high above him, singing their songs as they danced around the tall towers of the Keep. They ducked and dived, banked, and climbed around one another in their own little private dances.

He watched one in particular – a younger bird, with its white plumage almost glowing in the early evening light. He watched it chase playfully after another similar bird, often flying wingtip to wingtip as it called out in glee.

Harry smiled, watching it from his spot underneath the Great Oak of Arpton Keep, a small smile on his face as he idly ran an oiled cloth down the length of his sword. The quiet sounds of the castle and the steady roaring of the twin waterfalls on either side of the fortress were his only companions in his quiet sanctuary.

He sighed happily as he placed the blade down carefully on the soft grass beside him – the blade had been recently sharpened and was now well oiled, anything further would be just an excuse not to leave his shaded haven.

His head fell back slightly, the hard wood of the tree behind him was a familiar comfort. It was moments like this, when he was covered in the shade of the canopy that he felt truly at peace. He gave a little contented sigh as he stretched his legs out before him.

“Here you are! Shirking your duties again, I see!”

The voice caused him to groan as he cracked open an eye. There, striding across the grass with a large grin of pearly-white teeth was Rob, with his unruly red hair that stuck up wildly in every which direction. His father’s hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.

Harry grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, clapping him on the back.

“You always know where to find me.” Harry scoffed, returning to his spot at the base of the tree and patting the empty spot beside him. He watched as Rob hitched the material of his breeches and sat down.

“You look like shit.” Rob teased, smirking in that way he’d heard the girls around the castle giggling about. Harry rolled his eyes and gave his brother a small shove with his elbow.

“Aye, you would if you’d returned from the Capitol in the early hours of the morning.”

“Better you than me.” Rob grinned, idly scratching the rough stubble on his chin.

“How’s Daphne?” Harry found himself asking, eager to hear of one of his closest friends and the wife of his brother. He watched as Rob’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the beautiful, dark-haired witch. As usual, Rob sat a little taller when speaking of her and his shoulders were set a little further back as his chest puffed out in pride.

It had been a surprise to the family, for sure. Daphne Greengrass, heiress to the Greengrass family, had been a constant childhood companion to Harry, along with the Longbottom heir, Neville. They had grown up around one another, forming a bond of friendship so strong that they were as good as siblings.

While Neville had grown into a fearsome, broad man with a thick beard and square shoulders that spoke of his Norse heritage, Daphne had grown into a stunningly beautiful woman. Her long dark hair and piercing blue eyes would draw the attention of all the men around her.

From the moment she had become a woman, Daphne had been swarmed with an endless number of suitors, vying for her hand – some far more honourable than others. While many quickly gave up their pursuits easily enough, it had been Rob, two years younger than Harry, who had made it his life’s mission to win her hand.

Rob had been eighteen when she had finally succumbed to his charms and flirtations. It had been amusing to watch for years. Originally Rob had been a bumbling fool, tying his tongue in her presence and sweating profusely.

As the years went on, and Rob’s confidence grew, his attention to his friend had never wavered. The stumbling words paved way for confident compliments, and playful flirtations. Rob had grown into a handsome man, with broad shoulders from his years training with a sword that stood as tall as Harry, and he was a powerful wizard.

With Rob’s transition into adulthood, Daphne’s lingering glances to his younger brother hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. While Harry considered himself a capable man, and a strong wizard, he knew better than to tease the witch, whose eyes had lingered on his brother. He was happy for the two of them and had barely been able to contain his joy when they had shared a kiss during a dance at a House Longbottom tournament.

The announcement of their impending marriage had been swift and full of excitement. Harry still remembered the loud shrieks of protest and the black eye he had earned when he had scooped Daphne up and spun her around as he welcomed her _officially_ into the family. He had walked around in a happy daze for two days after that, something that his own wife had found hilarious.

“When I left her, she was trying to pull Astoria out of the helmet she’d gotten stuck on her head.” Rob snickered.

“ _Merlin_ , what did she do now?” Harry chuckled, picturing the two Greengrass sisters trying to get the helmet off. Astoria had become another honorary family member as they grew up – she was wild and fierce, a stark contrast to Daphne’s cool, calculating demeanour. While Daphne would preach caution, it would be Astoria who leapt into a situation headfirst.

Harry fondly remembered the time he had to rescue Astoria, who was well into her teens at that point, from a herd of wild Hippogriffs, because she’d plucked a wing-feather from the alpha – he still had the scars on his side from that little adventure.

“Oh, just trying to sneak into our Household Guard again.” Rob grinned, rolling his eyes. It had been a long-standing dream of Astoria’s to join the Potter Guard – she wasn’t one for the dresses and the courtships of regular girls, and Harry loved her for it.

“It’s the day she finds herself in a dress, willingly, is a day that we need to be concerned.” Harry grinned, imagining the petite, dark haired young woman in a dress.

“Aye – that’ll be the day.” Rob hummed, threading his fingers together over his stomach and resting his head against the trunk. “Say, why _did_ you return so late last night?”

“We overstayed our welcome, I believe.” Harry chuckled, pursing his lips. Rob turned his head and raised a brow curiously. Harry shrugged. “What do you want me to say? Trevelyan is a wanker – I call them as I see them.”

“You didn’t!” Rob gasped, grinning.

“Not in so many words, mind you.” Harry laughed.

“Father’s going to murder you – oh _Gods_ , that means I’ll have to be the heir!” Rob wailed, dragging his fingers down his face in horror.

“Aye – no more Quidditch for you. Whatever will your adoring public do without your smiles and winks?”

“Learn to stop sneaking into the changing rooms, most likely.” Rob sniggered, slugging Harry in his right arm playfully.

“Oh aye, I’m sure. Do you remember that girl, what was her name – blonde, fourth year that _stumbled_ into the locker room in my last year, looking for you?”

“Aye, oh _Merlin_ , what was her name? Bethany? Becky? Something like that. I remember you trying to hide yourself in your locker, too.” Rob chuckled, a far away look on his face as Harry rolled his eyes.

Of course, Rob _would_ remember that.

It had been in Harry’s final year of Hogwarts, and Rob’s fifth. They had been playing Slytherin, and Rob had performed excellently as the lead Chaser, scoring points left and right while Harry broke up the opposing formations and kept an eye out for the Snitch.

The celebrations in the locker room had them all re-enacting parts of the match and laughing loudly until a fourth year Hufflepuff had barged into the room, screaming for Rob and that she would be his. Harry had panicked and thrown himself bodily into his locker, what with him standing there in his underwear after he’d washed the sweat and grime of the match from his body. Rob, in comparison, had stood there shocked and shirtless.

“I wonder how she’s doing now?” Harry mused quietly, staring up at the high walls of the Keep as he rubbed at the short beard that had grown over the years.

The years had passed quickly – far too quickly for his own liking. He had left Hogwarts a decade ago and spent a few years as a Professional Dueller in Europe, before returning to take up his duties in Arpton Keep under the guiding hand of his father.

“There you fools are!” Came the voice of his sister – Jasmine Potter, the spitting image of her mother, fiery red hair framing her porcelain face and emerald eyes.

“Shite – we’re in for it now.” Rob grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

“Speak for yourself, I’m still the eldest – not to mention her favourite.” Harry muttered from the corner of his mouth as he offered Jasmine a smile and a wave as she marched across the lawn.

Rob scoffed. “Aye, but only because you’re wrapped around her finger.”

“Harry James Potter, just _where_ do you think you’ve been, hm?” Jasmine demanded, poking him roughly in the chest as she finally reached the two brothers. While Harry and Rob were handsome young men, they were known for their skill and power; Jasmine was the jewel of the Potter family scions.

It had been no surprise that Rob’s Fraternal Twin had taken after their mother, with a keen intellect and sharp wit to match her beauty, she had been the smartest witch of her year at Hogwarts, thrashing all the previously set records and setting her own.

She had railed against the expectations that came with her birth, and had made it her life’s mission to set new laws and customs to protect women in the wizarding world – already some of her earlier work was being taught at Hogwarts, held up as something to aspire to. It had come as no surprise when she had been made Head Girl, while Rob had been made Quidditch Captain.

She stood before him now, her nostrils flared, and her face flushed as she stared up at him with her hands on her hips. “Do you have _any_ idea how inconsolable poor Neville is, that you didn’t go and see him the moment you returned?”

Rob snorted at his side, “Anyone would think he was Harry’s wife.”

“Don’t get me started with you, Robert Charlus.”

Rob silenced himself immediately under his sister’s firm glare. Harry quickly pulled her into a firm hug, and softly kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry about Neville, Jas. I know how he can get.”

Rob snorted at his side, and Jasmine shifted suddenly before Rob yelped in pain, clutching his shin.

There had been something about Jasmine growing up that had often confused him. While he doted on her, and loved her unconditionally, she had always appeared nearby whenever Neville had been around. Neville had paid it no mind, and in their younger years, the two of them had tried to involve Jasmine in whatever game they were playing – often taking turns to rescue her from whichever foul wizard held her captive.

It was Neville, more often than not, would end up rescuing her – if only because Harry loved to see her face light up when Neville would stand victorious. She would clap and pretend to swoon before placing a quick peck on the boy’s cheek.

Harry had assumed that all girls were like that.

As they got older, her attention to Neville became more pronounced and Harry began to get an inkling as to why. Neville had grown into a fearsome young man, with powerful arms, a thick beard, and dark, wild hair that was always kept swept back.

While Neville was like a brother to him, it hadn’t quelled the protective instinct in him when he had caught Neville leaning against a wall, leaning into his sister with a lock of her hair wrapped around his finger. He still recalled standing behind an oblivious Neville and loudly clearing his throat. The older boy had panicked and stumbled away from him, tripping over a bucket of water and landing on his arse.

After making Neville sweat for a moment – perhaps it had been longer, but that was his prerogative, he had helped his best friend to his feet and threatened him bodily harm if he ever hurt sweet Jasmine. He was going to say more, but the moment was ruined when his darling sister dumped the rest of the bucket over his head and he had been forced to run for cover as she flung hex after hex at him.

Jasmine burrowed a little deeper into his chest as she took a deep breath – even in her mid-twenties, she would still be that same little girl he remembered following him around the castle, asking to ride on his back.

“How _is_ my dear brother-in-law?” Harry chuckled, leaning back a little and cupping his sister’s face. She rolled her eyes.

“Still as wild as ever, I’m afraid. He’s trying to teach little Ubbe how to wield an axe.”

“He always did say he’d start him young…” Rob muttered, stepping away just in time to avoid the foot that flew towards his shins.

“He’s four, Rob!” Jasmine snapped, scowling at her twin. Rob snickered quietly and rubbed at his jaw in an attempt to hide it – Harry too, was struggling to contain his amusement.

As Neville had grown, there had been something about his ancestry that had called to him, and he had thrown himself into it. He was every bit the model Pureblood wizard, he was also every bit the warrior – as children, the two of them could often be found in the training yard, sparring with blunted weapons as often as they sparred with their wands. Harry had favoured bastard swords and Neville had gravitated toward the axe.

It came as little surprise that he was trying to get little Ubbe, named for the founder of House Longbottom, to take to the axe.

“I’m sure little Ubbe will be just fine – besides, just you wait until he gets his hands on little Astrid, hm?”

Jasmine’s eyes widened a little at that, and Harry couldn’t help the little smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. The thought of little, sweet Astrid running around in her arctic blue silk dresses with an axe was almost too funny to imagine.

If Harry were honest with himself, he was a lost cause when it came to any of the next generation of Potters, Longbottoms and Greengrass’. As Daphne was the heir to her house, _technically_ Rob had become Robert Greengrass, and Jasmine had joined Neville’s house. As far as Harry was concerned though, they were _all_ one family.

It was at that moment that the three of them heard the unmistakable bang of the oak door on the stone wall of the castle. There, striding through the door with his son on his shoulders and daughter tucked under an arm as if she were a coat, was Neville.

Harry grinned and bent down to pick up the sword, sliding it quickly into the simple scabbard that he had left resting against the tree behind him. Better to be safe than sorry with the arrival of the children.

As he turned to look back at his brother-in-law, he chuckled as Neville, without breaking his long stride, lifted little Ubbe from his shoulders by the scruff of his neck, the little boy laughing and his legs already kicking as he landed on the floor running. Astrid, who was giggling uncontrollably took a moment to straighten her skirt before waddling on unsure feet toward her mother, who bent and held her hands out for her.

Before he knew it, he had been picked up and spun around as the much larger man roared with laughter and made his ribs creak. “There’s my _Little Wolf_!”

“Neville – can’t – breath.” Harry groaned, gasping for breath as he was dropped on the ground.

“And you wonder why people think you’re married.” Rob laughed, slapping Harry on the back. Harry just cuffed him over the head.

“Ha! Now there’s a thought-“

“No!” Jasmine snapped, glaring at her husband as she poked him in the ribs. “I’m selfish, I refuse to share.”

“Maybe next time, Neville.” Harry grinned as he bent down to pick up Ubbe, who was tugging on his trouser leg, his tiny hand stretched into the air as high as it would reach. Harry made a show of picking the boy up. “Oh, you’re getting too big for me, Ubbe! Soon I won’t be able to pick you up!” Harry said, holding his nephew against his right hip and tapping him on his little nose.

The boy scrunched his face up and went cross-eyed for a moment as he focused on his finger. It was far too adorable.

“No! Uncle Harry!” The little Ubbe cried, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck, and burying his face into his shoulder. Harry grinned and hugged the boy back, stroking his dark hair with his free hand.

“Oh, alright then, I think I can manage it for a little longer.” Harry whispered, earning a giggle from the boy. “And how’s little Astrid doing, hm?”

He turned to look at the little girl that was bouncing on her mother’s hip. She looked as content as ever – her chubby little cheeks flushed red and her eyes scrunched up as she giggled and tried to hide behind her hands. He gasped and pretended to look for her. “Where’s little Astrid gone?”

She dropped her hands with a loud giggle, and he peppered her forehead with little kisses. “There she is!”

“Harry!”

The unmistakable sound of Astoria’s excited shout echoed across the garden and he looked around at the assembled adults with a befuddled expression. “Was there some pre-arranged meeting I didn’t know about?”

Rob snorted as Harry put Ubbe on the floor and prepared himself. He noticed everyone – even the little boy stepped back. “Everyone’s missed you, what can I say?” Rob grinned, slapping him on the shoulder again while Neville chuckled.

Harry winced as the dark-haired missile struck his chest, her lithe arms wrapping around his torso with such a strength that he could hardly believe it was the petite woman before him. “’Storia – ribs – bending – hurts.”

Astoria let go with a little blush and took a step back with a grin. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Aye, even in the spare pieces of armour laying around, apparently.”

Astoria’s blue eyes widened a little at that before she awkwardly glanced at the floor, briefly shooting both Neville and Rob a glare as they snickered – both quelled under her gaze, however.

“Astoria, how many times do I have to tell you not to run off?” Daphne sighed, shaking her head as she joined the group – a six-year-old boy with messy black hair and blue eyes at her side, and a three year old girl in each arm.

“I was wondering where you were.” Harry quipped, quickly planting a kiss on Daphne’s cheek as he greeted her with a one-armed hug.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Astoria groaned. Harry chuckled, rolled his eyes and placed one on her cheek too.

“Looks like you’ve got competition, Neville.” Rob winked, leaning casually to the side as Astoria took a swipe at him. The youngest of them growled dangerously and Harry watched as his brother’s eyes widened a little bit as he held his hands in front of him. “Now… Astoria, don’t do anything hasty. Daphne, dear?”

“Yes, dear husband of mine?” She replied airily, as if nothing of consequence was happening.

“She’s got that look in her eye again.”

“Astoria?” Daphne grinned, looking at her husband.

“Yes, dear sister of mine?”

“Get him.”

There was a small yelp as the children and remaining adults all laughed loudly. Astoria had thrown herself bodily at Rob, knocking them both to the dirt as they rolled around. The youngest Greengrass used her smaller stature to her advantage, nimbly avoiding his brother’s attempts to shake her loose. It ended with Astoria, dressed as she was in her tunic, breeches and boots, sitting quite proudly on his brother’s chest, beaming up at the lot of them – she was soon joined by the two boys, who leapt atop Rob happily.

“That’s eight to nothing.” Neville murmured, quietly handing Harry a trio of Galleons.

“I told you that you were a fool for thinking otherwise.” Harry chuckled back, tucking the gold pieces into a small pouch on his belt.

“Men.” Jasmine sighed, rolling her eyes. Little Astrid on her hip tried to mimic her mother, rolling her eyes while she sucked on her thumb.

“Aye, but we love them in any event.” Daphne sighed, as if it were some great burden.

“You know, we could be quite offended by that.” Harry replied, raising a brow at the woman opposite him.

“You’ll get over it – you’re a big boy.” She replied, smiling sweetly. Harry scoffed and turned to watch the small pile of bodies atop his brother. Astoria had remained in her place of triumph, encouraging the boys to tickle the youngest Potter brother – Rob’s giggles and barks of laughter were always a welcome sound.

They stood there for a time, just watching as tears ran down Rob’s cheeks as he squirmed under the ticklish torture of his son and nephew. It was moments like this where Harry was reminded of just how fortunate they all were – all happy and content. They had grown and matured quickly after Hogwarts, and now they all had small families of their own. How quickly the years went by.

It would be his own brood that went off to Hogwarts first – little Sirius and Remus, the twins named for his Marauder uncles, with their wild hair that refused to be tamed, and their sparkling eyes. It was hard to imagine it would only be a few more years until he stood on that platform, waving them goodbye. Where _had_ the time gone?

“You’re brooding again.” Daphne and Jasmine said at the same time, both looking at him fondly. The gentle breeze gently swaying the skirts of their dresses – Jasmine in her emerald dress, and Daphne in her usual black and silver.

“I don’t brood.” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes as his gaze lifted and flittered to the two women who were looking at him with little smirks.

Neville snorted at his side and clapped Harry on the back. “Harry, all you ever did at Hogwarts was brood.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!” Astoria chimed in, causing Harry to roll his eyes again.

Harry folded his arms across his chest and ignored the quiet chuckles of those around him and simply continued to watch as his nephews continued to torment his brother – before long, they had tired of their game with his brother and flopped into the grass beside Rob.

There was a soft caw above him, and he tilted his head a little and caught a glimpse of his faithful companion as she swooped down from between the tall towers of Arpton, her large wings tucked tightly into her body and her long tailfeathers trailing behind her.

She came to a sharp stop just before them and took to perching on one of the thick branches of the great oak. Harry sighed as he reached up and scratched her chin – the Phoenix leant into his touch, trilling quietly.

“Told you we’d find him if we followed the chicken!” Came the chuckling voice of his father. It was a deep, soothing voice that had read him stories like _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ , and _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ after tucking him into bed.

Harry spun and took in the sight of Lord James Potter, Lord of Arpton Keep and Rosestone Castle, and proud father to three children. On his left were Sirius and Remus, his Marauder uncles – Sirius with his wildly curly hair and easy smirk, and Remus with his neat brown hair that was streaked with grey. On his right was Lily Potter, devoted mother, Lady of House Potter, and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

His father was dressed in his usual dark doublet, and his mother was in a dress that resembled Jasmine’s. A pair of nine-year-old boys sprinted around the four of them, screaming in joy – their faces were flushed with happiness and their mouths were set into excited grins.

Harry bent down and held his arms out as the two boys collided with him. He laughed as he scooped them up as best he could. “I was wondering where the two of you trouble-makers were!”

Little Remus, with his hair tied back neatly, laughed as he wrapped his arms around Harry, while little Sirius was busy trying to climb his way onto his shoulders. “I think I regret naming you after the Marauders.” He grouched, glaring at the two men they were named for – both of whom were snickering quietly.

“Uncle Sirius showed us how to talk to girls!” Remus grinned bouncing up and down a little on the spot.

“Did he now?” Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man in question. Harry’s father laughed loudly alongside Neville while Harry’s mother, Jasmine and Daphne rolled their eyes.

“Just passing on my talents where they’re needed.” Sirius replied with a wink.

“But girls are so _boring_!” Groaned Rob’s son, David – named for their mother’s Muggle father. Astoria leaned over and gently flicked him on the forehead, having abandoned her seat atop Rob, who was busy pulling himself to his feet.

“I’m not boring, am I?”

“No! You’re the best, Auntie ‘Storia!”

“That’s right, and _I’m_ a girl.” She replied smugly, watching as David worked that one out in his head. After a moment, he seemed to understand and nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Just goes to show, Gryffindors are the best.” Neville grinned.

Daphne snorted while Jasmine simply rolled her eyes.

“I hate to break it to you dears, but you’re vastly outnumbered.” His mother chuckled, patting both women on their shoulders as she fussed over the girls in their arms, cooing and making little faces at them.

With little Sirius James Potter perched on his shoulders, and little Remus Charlus still holding onto him, Harry thought there was no better place to be – even if his little moment of quiet solitude had been disturbed.

“What brought you all out here?” He asked, looking to his father.

“Is it so wrong to wish to spend time with my family?” The Potter patriarch grinned, moving to pick little Remus up – despite Harry approaching his thirties, his father didn’t look any older than himself. Indeed, there had been a number of times people had asked if they were indeed brothers.

“Of course not – I’m just surprised is all.” Harry smiled, reaching up and taking hold of Sirius’s hands, which were gripping his hair.

“We missed you, dear.” His mother smiled, before planting a kiss on his cheek. Sirius snickered above him.

“What’s so funny, hm?”

“Grandmama kissed you!”

“I happen to know for a fact that your mother kisses you each night.” Harry grinned, tipping his head back a little to peer up at his son’s scrunched up face. “That’s what I thought.” Harry winked.

“Where is my darling daughter-in-law?”

“With the girls, most likely.” Rob replied with a chuckle. Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

“She could be doing other things – you never know.” He shrugged, looking at Rob.

“No, no, the girls are a safe bet.” His father chuckled, rubbing at his jaw in an attempt to hide his smirk.

The door to the garden opened, and a pair of giggling girls – both dressed in light blue dresses skipped along the stone path. The oldest, Jean, was seven, while the youngest, Traya was five – the pair were utterly inseparable, and utterly adorable as they skipped along the path side-by-side holding a small bouquet of flowers.

“Harry!”

He looked up to see his wife walking toward him, but his view of her was cut off as everyone stepped forward to greet her. She was well loved by his family, he knew, even as little Sirius squirmed on his shoulders with his arms outstretched for her. He chuckled and remained in place, content to simply wait.

“Harry!”

He blinked slowly, his smile content as Rob swept her up in a hug, spinning her around in place, her hair loose and…

“ _Harry_!”

The world snapped into focus, and he found himself sitting before the large mirror – its golden frame sparkling in the moonlight as the figures in the glass disappeared from view. He looked to his right, where he could feel someone shaking his shoulder.

“’Ermione?” He mumbled, still a little dazed. Hermione was kneeling next to him, her legs tucked under herself as she shook his shoulder. “What you,” He paused for a moment as the room spun. “doin’ ‘ere?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. “ _That_ ’s the first question you have? Honestly Harry, it’s no _wonder_ you’re second in class.”

Harry frowned at her but hissed as it caused his temples to throb painfully. He buried his face in his hands for a moment and let out a pitiful moan.

He vaguely noted the sound of Hermione shifting beside him on the step. When he finally mustered the strength to pick his head from his hands, he noticed she was sat much more comfortably now, with her hands threaded together in her lap.

Harry groaned again as the moonlight that trickled into the room made his eyes sore.

“What are you doing back?” He asked after a moment, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands.

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, looking at him with an odd expression.

“Why are you back so soon? Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”

There was a beat of silence as Hermione nibbled her lip. “Harry, it’s January twenty-first.”

Harry blinked and then laughed tiredly. “Yeah, right. Good one.”

“No, I’m serious, Harry. We’ve been back for two weeks. When did _you_ think it was?”

Harry found himself rubbing his forehead tiredly as he stifled a yawn. “Early morning Boxing Day, I suppose?”

“No _wonder_ you look so exhausted!” Hermione cried, throwing her arms in the air as she stood and began pacing. “We’ve been worried _sick_ about you, Potter!” She added, spinning around to look at him with a raised finger and a furious look on her face.

“Huh?” He asked, dumbly.

“Harry, you’ve looked no better than a corpse for _weeks_! Neville says you barely go to your room!”

“I was in it earlier-“ He began, about to recall waking up with Clara at his side as his defence, only to have the girl before him cut him off furiously.

“No, you weren’t! You spent the whole evening on the couch and staring at the fireplace. I put a tracking charm on you and followed you here – honestly Harry, do you have any idea how much trouble we could be in? How may _rules_ we’re breaking?”

“Probably the same number as when you set Snape on fire…” He muttered, scrunching his face a little again as he rubbed at his eyes.

“ _Professor_ – and technically, there are no rules against that. Besides, I did it to make sure _you_ were safe!” Hermione snapped, beginning her furious pacing once again.

“Hermione, please sit down – you’re giving me a headache.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. She gave a small huff of protest before stomping quietly – he had no clue how she managed _that_ – over to where he was sat and plopped down beside him, with her arms across her chest and a scowl on her face.

Harry’s head throbbed, but the pain was less severe than it had been minutes before. Harry ran his fingers through his hair and realised for the first time that it was completely loose – when did that happen? It had been tied back when he had ventured down here.

Slowly, his eyes began to take in other details – his boots looked less than presentable, and the breeches and baggy tunic he had been wearing were replaced by a wrinkled school uniform. Where had his clothes gone?

“Is it really January?” He whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. Hermione turned to look at him, her face softening at his stunned expression.

“Oh Harry.” She said before throwing her arms around him. “We were all so worried.” She added after a moment. Harry merely sat there, his wide eyes staring at the mirror before him, tracing the soft curves of the patterning – even now, the mist in the glass called to him, tempting him with the promise of what he had seen.

“Hermione – what do you see?” He asked, watching as she pulled back from him and followed his gaze to the glass. She looked at the mirror curiously, though not without a bit of hesitation.

“I see,” She began slowly. “I have my own library – it looks rather cosy. I’m reading, but I’m,” Harry watched as she gasped a little and put a hand to her mouth – she blushed a little, her cheeks turning scarlet. “I’m holding someone’s hand.” She murmured and quickly averted her eyes. “I couldn’t see their face though.”

“That sounds nice.” He hummed.

“Harry… What did _you_ see?”

He was quiet. Did he want to tell her? Why wouldn’t he? It had felt so _real_ , so tangible. He could still feel the weight of little Sirius on his shoulders and hear the laughter of Rob as his nephews and Astoria tickled him mercilessly. He could smell the garden at Arpton as clearly as if he were there.

“My family.” He sighed, running a hand down his face with a groan. “It was so _real_ , Hermione. I could touch them; I could smell them – I saw them as real as you are now.”

“No wonder you kept coming back to it.” She murmured, her eyes becoming shiny for a moment. Harry cringed – he didn’t want her to cry, especially not because of _him_.

“It was perfect.”

The two were quiet for a time, simply content to sit in a comfortable silence with the other. There were no words of comfort that Hermione could offer, and he appreciated her silence – more than she likely realised. Many were often too quick to offer their words of regret, or their consolations, wanting to fill the awkward silence. They underestimated the comfort of a quiet moment.

There was something deeply wrong, he thought, about growing without the unconditional love of a mother and father. He had Sirius, Arcturus, Remus and even Lispy, but it wasn’t the same. Yes, they were a family, but he had never been tucked into bed by his mother – had his hair patted smooth as he sat in her lap. He had never been taught to ride a broom by his father, or had his hair ruffled after catching a Quaffle – at least, not that he could _remember_.

He longed for it more than anything – if there was ever something he wished for more than anything, it would be his parents.

As it was, he _had_ been raised in a loving family. He _had_ grown up being tucked into bed by Sirius, and Remus read him bedtime stories. He _had_ been congratulated and had his hair ruffled by Arcturus. He was incredibly fortunate.

It still didn’t help the sharp stabbing pain in his chest when he’d hear Hermione or Tracey talk of their parents. It was part of the reason he and Neville were so close – they had that fundamental link that bonded them together.

They were both orphans.

Neville, while his parents were technically still alive – the people they had been were long since passed, driven into the depths of insanity and beyond hope of recovery. All Neville could do now was make sure they were well taken care of. Sometimes he wondered what was worse – the lack of parents, or knowing they were alive but beyond your reach.

Harry turned his head a little, and found his nose tickled by Hermione’s bushy hair – the wild, untameable strands that were just so intrinsically _Hermione_. At some point, she had moved closer and put her head on his shoulder. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even felt noticed.

“Back _again_ , Harry?” Came the familiar, soft voice of Headmaster Dumbledore. The two of them scrambled to their feet and spun to face the silver-haired man who was standing calmly at the entrance to the room. He lifted an amused brow at Hermione and his eyes sparkled over his half-moon glasses. “And I see you brought a friend with you.”

“Sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore, we were just-“ Hermione began, only for the elderly professor to hold up a hand.

“I see that you both, like so many before you, have discovered the delights of the _Mirror of Erised_.” Dumbledore looked between the two of them as he approached slowly, his eyes briefly locking on the pale glass over Harry’s shoulder. For a moment, Harry thought he saw Dumbledore’s shoulders sag a little. “I trust, by now, that you understand what it does?”

Harry frowned and glanced at Hermione.

“In that case, allow me to give you both a clue.” Dumbledore offered before either could really respond, coming to stand directly before the mirror as he gazed upon the two of them. “The happiest man alive, could look into that mirror, and see only himself – exactly as he is.”

“It shows us what we want – whatever we want.” Harry murmured, his eyes darting to the floor.

“Yes – and no.” Dumbledore replied, his eyes darting to Hermione.

“Erised – it’s desire backwards! It shows us what we truly desire!” Hermione gasped at his side; her eyes wide. Dumbledore smiled down at her.

Harry’s own eyes widened – no wonder the mirror had shown him his family. There was nothing he yearned for more.

“Indeed, Miss Granger – it shows us no more than our deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. It does not take a great mind, to guess at what you have been seeing these past weeks, Harry.”

“Aye, Headmaster.” He replied quietly. He felt Hermione squeeze his hand gently.

“But remember this, Harry. This mirror gives us neither knowledge, nor truth. Men have wasted away in front of it – even gone mad. I can see from your appearance, and Miss Granger’s obvious concern, that you have felt these effects for yourself.” Dumbledore said softly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“That is why tomorrow, it will be moved to a new home.” Harry looked sharply up at the man before him – that familiar feeling from the mirror that had drawn him into the room screaming in the back of his mind. “It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.”

“Professor,” Hermione began hesitantly. The Headmaster turned to look at her, a small smile on his face as he removed his hand. “Where is the mirror from?”

“Ah, that is a question that minds far greater than my own have been pondering for centuries. All we can say for certain, is that the method of its creation has been lost to time.”

Harry frowned and looked back at the mirror. The magic of it was so different to the magic of Hogwarts – it was rich, full, and sweet. It felt so much like Arpton Keep that…

Harry gasped, his eyes widening as he looked up at Dumbledore. “It’s –“

“Miss Granger, please see to it that the two of you return to Gryffindor Tower, won’t you? I believe Harry has something that shall see you both to bed without drawing the ire of our Caretaker, hm?” Dumbledore smiled gently. Hermione nodded quickly.

“Of course, Headmaster.”

Harry groaned at the thought of walking back to the Gryffindor Tower but reached out a hand for his father’s cloak – which he had noticed was gathered into a neat pile on one of the steps – and summoned the silky material.

Hermione gasped at his side; her eyes wide as she took in the display of magic. He looked at her a little strangely for a moment before shrugging, he would ask her about it later. He turned to say goodnight to the Headmaster, as was only polite, but instead caught the old wizard staring sadly into the misty glass.

Just as they reached the door, and Harry was about to throw the cloak over both himself and Hermione, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of a man in Dumbledore’s glasses. He had pale skin, and thick, white-blonde hair that was slicked back on top and shaved at the sides. He had a moustache on his top lip as he smirked cheekily, while his piercing, mismatched eyes stared unblinkingly.

Harry blinked and it was gone, and Dumbledore turned to look at him with a sad smile. Harry bowed politely, as he had been taught, and threw the cloak over his head before leading Hermione through the door.

* * *

Harry didn’t remember much of the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, nor getting into his bed, so it was with a bit of surprise that he found himself waking to the soft cawing of his Phoenix companion. Clara nudged his cheek with her beak gently, and her dark eyes looked sadly down at him.

He sat up quickly and wrapped his arms around the bird, drawing her into his chest and ignoring the sharp poking of her talons as she hopped into his lap. He buried his face in her plumage and softly stroked down her back.

He pulled back after a moment and saw a small tear trail down her face. He wiped it away with a gentle swipe of his finger and kissed the crown of her head. “I’m here, girl. Sorry for worrying you.”

Clara ruffled her feathers and gently nipped his ear. She hopped out of his arms and allowed him to go about his morning routine.

Once dressed, he moved toward the door, feeling fresher than any other day he had spent at Hogwarts – his clothes were perfectly presentable, his hair was neatly tied back, and his satchel hung from his shoulder. Today would be a difficult day, if only because he no doubt had so much to catch up on – he’d be damned if he let that comment from Hermione about being second in the class go unanswered.

The door opened and Harry was immediately swallowed in a hug from Neville, the boy spinning him around much like he had done in the dreamscape the Mirror of Erised had shown him. “Harry! Hermione told me you were back to normal! Oh, I’ve missed you so much!”

“Nev’le – ribs – breaking –“ Harry gasped, kicking his feet a little as his toes searched for the floor. Neville dropped him with a bit of a blush and scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry – got a little carried away there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry chuckled, reaching down, and picking up his satchel. He looked up at his best friend as he stood back to his full height. “What have I missed?”

“Well, we have an essay due today for Magical Theory – something about how intent is different from desire, and the repercussions of it through spell-casting. I’m not sure, but Daphne and Hermione know more about it than I do.” Neville shrugged, holding the door open for him as they made their way to the stairs for the Common Room.

“Well, I don’t remember anything from the past month, so I think it unlikely I wrote the essay. I’ll have to ask if I can hand it to her next lesson. Do you think Reyne will let me?”

“Beats me.” Neville shrugged, their boots clicking on the marble stairs. “Hermione mentioned you didn’t remember anything but didn’t say why. What happened?”

Harry frowned a little and pursed his lips. “I’m not sure – I found a mirror, here in the castle.” Harry replied before placing a hand on Neville’s arm. The two stopped on the stairs, and Harry looked up and down them before he pulled his friend to the side. “It’s called the _Mirror of Erised_.” He whispered.

“That sounds like a daft name.” Neville murmured, though he crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to be frowning in thought. “So, it was this mirror?”

“Aye. It… showed me things.”

“Like what?”

“My family – what could have been, I suppose.” Harry replied, his voice still low.

“Harry, where is it? I _have_ to see it!” Neville said, his eyes going wide and his mouth hanging open a little. Harry thought he heard his heart break a little.

“I can’t – I looked into it once, and I lost a _month_. I’d never let you suffer that.” He began, only to be cut off by the boy opposite him.

“Harry – they’re my _parents_ , I _have_ to know-“

“Dumbledore moved it.”

“ _Bollocks_!” Neville growled, running his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth on the step a little.

“I’m sorry.” Harry sighed; his eyes trained on his friend.

“It’s not your fault. It would have been nice though.” Neville muttered, waving away his apology. Harry nodded sadly and let out a quiet sigh.

“That’s not all – I don’t think the mirror is from here.”

“What, Hogwarts?” Neville asked, confused.

“No, no – as in _Britain_.” Harry whispered with a pointed look. Harry watched as the words slowly sunk in – Neville’s eyes went wide again, and his mouth formed an O.

“You mean it’s from-“

“ _Yes_! Or at least, I _think_ so.”

“How do you know?”

Harry frowned and placed his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. It felt like Arpton Keep – it’s the only way I can describe it.”

“You still need to take me there, you know.”

Harry rolled his eyes – Neville had been begging him to take him to Arpton ever since he had first told him and Daphne about the fortress and everything he had seen in it. “I’ll take you this summer when I visit. Daphne too, if she wants.”

“You’d better, Potter.” Neville grinned excitedly. “Now come on, before Weasley eats all the food.”

Harry laughed and let Neville drag him down the stairs as he rolled his eyes. While the comment itself _was_ funny, it also wasn’t inaccurate – Ron Weasley was sure to be responsible for half the school’s food budget by the end of their seven years. How someone could have four servings of breakfast was utterly beyond him.

“Oh! Before I forget, I think I owe her this much…” Harry said, stopping for a moment and stepping into the middle of the stairway. “Clara!”

The bird appeared in a ball of flame above him, her wings beating steadily as her head turned this way and that, searching for the reason as to his call.

“How do you feel about coming to the Great Hall for breakfast, hm?” Harry offered, pointing to his shoulder – she would be heavy, he could manage her for the few minutes it would take for them to walk down the stairs. At the very least, she could fly around the moving stairs while they got to the Ground Floor.

It wasn’t uncommon for familiars to join their bonded witch or wizard in the Hall for meals. Usually it was the dogs, or birds of prey such as Daphne’s Merlin Hawke. He had avoided taking Clara down thus far in the year for the simple fact that he didn’t want to cause a scene – but he felt like indulging the proud bird after everything that had happened. No doubt, she had been worried sick while he hadn’t been himself.

She let out a soft caw as she lowered herself to his shoulder. He felt the weight immediately and winced a little. He gave a little grin to Neville and the two descended the last few steps. At the bottom, they were greeted by a thankfully empty Common Room – besides the bushy-haired witch that was perched on the far sofa with a book in her hand.

Neville chuckled at the sight. “Hermione – you able to put the book down and eat?”

Hermione looked up from the volume she was perusing and rolled her eyes as she got to her feet. “I’ll have you know I can read _and_ eat if I have to.” She paused as she took in Harry and his familiar and she gave him a small smile. “Good morning Harry, Clara.”

Clara let out a single squawk and sat a little taller, while Harry just rolled his eyes at the bird and offered Hermione a small smile in return. Harry’s stomach rumbled a little and he winced as Neville and Hermione laughed quietly.

“Alright, let’s get this one fed.” Neville grinned, moving toward the door. Neville opened the portrait and allowed Hermione through first, her book clutched to her chest and her own satchel balanced precariously on her shoulder. Harry followed, sighing as Clara leapt from his shoulder and began to fly between the moving stairs.

“I’d forgotten how pretty she is when she’s flying.” Neville muttered, his eyes following the large bird as she ducked under a moving staircase with a twirl – the two Hufflepuffs gasping and leaning over the railing as she passed. All around them, the startled words of surprise and awe from the hundreds of portraits echoed around the large chamber.

“Ever noticed that she doesn’t do too much flying in _Care of Familiars_?” Hermione asked, taking the lead as she began moving down the stairs.

Harry snorted. “Aye, she enjoys the treats and the attention too much.”

“Harry, don’t be so mean!”

“He’s not being mean if it’s true.” Neville chuckled. “She’s always enjoyed being made a fuss of. Used to drive Harry up the wall when he’d try to get her to do something.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked, looking back at them as they came to the first landing.

Harry shrugged and shifted the strap of his satchel. “I played _Fetch_ with her mostly in the beginning. Besides the ability to travel, at the time I didn’t really know much about what they could do.”

“Did you not have any books available?”

Neville snorted. “What?” He asked, as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “The book was pretty useless.”

“Obviously, you had the wrong book.” Hermione sighed, as if she were explaining something to a child.

“Hermione, there’s only one book on Phoenix’s. There’s a reason they’re so rare as familiars.” Harry replied, skipping the last step as they stepped onto the landing of the fourth floor. “And I learned most of what people think about Phoenix’s is wrong within the week after she’d matured.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Harry began with a shrug, stepping around a Ravenclaw that was heading in the other direction. “For one, the book claims Phoenix’s are herbivores. It’s bollocks,”

“ _Language_!” Hermione hissed, looking at him furiously.

“They’re omnivores but they prefer meat. A single look at Clara’s beak and talons could tell you that – not to mention her eyes are at the front of her head, not at the sides.” Harry sighed, ignoring Hermione’s glare.

Harry glanced up and smiled as Clara flew through the air above them. He reached a hand out to steady Neville, who stumbled a little as he focused more on the Phoenix than where his feet were going.

“Like he said – they’re rare. Most people go their entire lives without seeing a Phoenix – people will hunt for decades and not see a single feather. Harry’s a lucky wizard.” Neville grinned, playfully elbowing Harry before they continued down the stairs.

Once on the Ground Floor, the three of them quickly hurried to the Hall as Clara resumed her perch on his shoulder. No doubt she was enjoying it as she hadn’t been able to sit with him since he first found her. He’d admit only to himself that he had missed it also – perhaps, when he was older, it could become a regular thing between them again.

The reaction to Clara as they entered the Hall was exactly as he had expected. Eyes were glued to them as they quickly moved to their benches – Daphne and Tracey standing from the Slytherin table to join them.

The occasional yip and bark of the various dogs in the Hall were the only sounds that reached them for a minute or so until Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly, stirring the Hall back into the comfortable buzz it had been. Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief and began piling bacon and sausages onto his plate for Clara.

The Phoenix, on the other hand, was comfortably perched on the table with her wings tucked into her body as she stood at her tallest. Harry rolled his eyes at her preening and held up a chunk of sausage on a fork. Immediately drawn to the meat, he watched as Clara’s beak ripped and tore at it, before tossing her head back and throwing it down her gullet.

“You’re going to spoil her for her regular food, you know.” Daphne sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Don’t come complaining to us when she refuses to hunt for herself.”

“Bold of you to assume she isn’t already spoiled.” Tracey muttered, staring wistfully at the magnificent bird.

“Wrapped around her little talon, he is.” Neville added solemnly as he dunked some toast into an egg.

“Do you guys really have nothing better to do right now?” Harry groaned, spearing a chunk of bacon.

“No.” The three of them responded. Harry rolled his eyes and looked to Hermione, who had sat on his left, on the far side of Clara – it seemed her boast about reading and eating wasn’t without merit. She was eating small bites of sliced fruit as she read from the book propped open against a glass goblet of orange juice.

Harry chuckled before his eyes caught the title at the top of the page and blinked in surprise. “Hermione, what are you doing reading about _Wandless Magic_? That’s beyond even Hogwarts!”

“She’s _what_?” Tracey gasped; her eyes wide as she choked on some food.

Hermione looked up and blushed a little. “I wanted to look into it a little, after last night.” She replied, before looking at Harry. “You summoned your cloak to you without your wand.”

“Hermione, I’ve been doing that for years – _Merlin_ , Neville and Daphne can do it too. I’d bet even Tracey has done it once or twice.”

Harry watched as the three nodded slowly. Daphne and Neville were a little confused, but Tracey seemed to understand better than anyone, it seemed.

“Harry, she’s a _Muggle-born_. She wasn’t raised with magic like we were.”

Realisation dawned on their faces, and Harry found himself blushing a little. He had forgotten that about Hermione – she knew more than most Pureblood adults at times, it seemed. Harry reached out and picked up a green apple and a similar red one.

Passing the green apple to Hermione, he turned to face her as he held his own apple in his hand. “Okay, you understand everything we’ve been taught about magic so far, and you connected with your magic before the holiday, so this should be fairly easy for you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little at the sudden impromptu lesson and turned to face him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Clara began helping herself to the meat still on his plate.

“Okay, now, there’s no spell for it and no incantation. It’s simply directed intent. You have to _want_ the apple to hover. _Demand_ it.” At this, Harry flickered his eyes to his own fruit and watched it slowly rise into the air above his palm, wobbling lazily in place.

He watched Hermione focus on her own apple, only to scowl at it when it wouldn’t budge.

“No, no, relax. You’ll pop an artery if you keep looking at it like that.” Harry chuckled, directing his magic to move it slowly around Hermione’s head before it slapped into his waiting palm. He took a bite out of it with a smile. “Relax.”

Hermione blew out a puff of air and focused on the fruit in her hand again. This time, after a few moments, it lifted a few centimetres from her hand before dropping suddenly. “I did it!” She gasped, her smile beaming.

They all applauded her quietly with their own grins.

“I knew you’d manage it Hermione.” Daphne winked. “Took Harry _months_ to do it on purpose.”

“Hey, I managed it as a baby!” Harry defended himself, scratching Clara under the chin for a moment.

“You did – but you always did it by accident after that until you were seven. I still remember having to duck out the way when you made those plates come flying at us.” Neville grumbled.

“How you two ever survived without me is unfathomable.” Daphne muttered, pulling a grape from a small bushel.

“You summoned _plates_?” Tracey demanded, leaning forward, and looking between the two boys.

“We were hungry.” Neville muttered to himself as he stabbed at another egg with a bit of toast.

“In any event,” Harry said a little louder than necessary, raising a brow at his group of friends. “You’re doing well Hermione. Keep practicing and you’ll be able to do it as well as any of us.” He grinned.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and turned back to her bowl of fruit and the book. Harry leaned back to Neville and whispered, “When did she get the chance to get that book?”

“Not sure – she already had it when I went downstairs this morning.” Neville shrugged, causing Harry to frown a little. Had Hermione woken up early to go to the library, just because she’d seen him call his cloak to his hand? Who was he kidding – of course she had.

It wasn’t much longer until the call for class rang out in the Hall. As it was a Wednesday, it meant Magical Theory was the first class of the day. He looked at Clara as he stood with the others and gave her a quick scratch before shouldering his bag. “I’ll see you later. Off you get – go do whatever it is you Phoenixes do.”

Clara leapt into the air and flew up towards the ceiling with powerful flaps of her wings before she was swallowed by flames. A moment later, and she was gone.

“Come on, Harry – let’s see if we can get you that extra time on that essay.” Neville sighed, clapping him on the shoulder gently.

The five of them walked through the halls of Hogwarts quickly enough. Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey led the way, the three girls walking side-by-side as they discussed something or another, while Harry and Neville were simply content to follow.

When they got to the classroom on the second floor, they found the rest of their year-group standing outside waiting to enter. All around, there were various expressions of boredom and tiredness – of course, _Magical Theory_ wasn’t a practical subject, though it did have its applications in every subject Hogwarts taught.

Harry found it fascinating – Neville always joked that Harry found _every_ subject fascinating. While not wrong, Harry would never admit to such a thing. After all, he detested _History of Magic_ with Professor Twinkle as much as the next student. Contrary to his name, he was anything _but_ twinkling. He was dull and could make even the most exciting subject as interesting as watching a potion boil. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer through his lesson until tomorrow – no doubt they would learn about another _fascinating_ way of Magical Farming in twelfth-century Slovakia.

Harry leaned against the stone wall casually and let out a quiet sigh. At least in _Magical Theory_ they learned useful and applicable things. Before the holidays, they had been exploring latent magic, and how it affected the senses of witches and wizards. It was all very interesting.

He knew that magic was in all living things, and to some degree a witch or wizard could sense the intent of a creature easily enough. It wasn’t just creatures it was limited to either – it was also common between humans, though they were far more difficult. If the witch, or wizard, was about to be attacked, their magic would warn them. Sometimes it was that warning that saved their life.

“Enter!” The voice of Professor Reyne called through the door. Immediately, the class began filtering through. As usual, the first students through the door were Ravenclaws, quickly followed by a medley of Hufflepuff and Slytherin students with the Gryffindor contingent bringing up the rear.

They entered the auditorium-style classroom quickly enough – none of them wanting to attract the ire of the Professor who was standing before a large chalkboard. They filtered through the rows of benches until they found their usual spot – halfway down and in the centre of the room with a clear view of the board.

Daphne lead their group, followed by Hermione and then Tracey. Harry followed Tracey in, and Neville just behind him. Once the scraping of the benches died down and the rustling of parchment settled to manageable levels, Professor Reyne greeted the class.

“Good morning Professor Reyne.” The class responded as one – some more enthusiastic than others.

“Your assignment will be handed in at the end of class and your grades shall be handed back to you next week. Now, for today’s lesson – _Foci_.”

Harry scribbled the word onto the top of his sheet of parchment with his quill and underlined it.

“Now, what can you all tell me about foci?” The blonde-haired witch asked the class. “Anyone?”

Harry raised his hand slowly and cleared his throat when the woman nodded at him. “Well, theoretically anything could be a magical focus. The most common in Britain, historically, are wands, staves, swords, and daggers.”

“Excellent answer, Mr. Potter. Five points.”

The Gryffindors cheered quietly.

“Now, does anyone know _why_ some are preferred over others?”

Draco Malfoy raised his hand on the left side of the room while his gathering of Slytherin’s looked on.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

“Wands are the most common because they’re the easiest to make and bond to a witch or wizard.”

“Very well done – two points.”

Susan Bones raised her hand on the far right of the class. Despite knowing that Sirius was betrothed to her Aunt, Harry still hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Susan – though, in all fairness, she hadn’t gone out of her way to speak to him either. Professor Reyne nodded at the Hufflepuff girl.

“Swords don’t conduct magic well, and neither do daggers. Wands and staves are the best because of the wood and the cores of such things. Furthermore, staves don’t require a core like wands because they tend to have a focus at the top – the most common being rare gems.”

“Excellent answer – ten points to Hufflepuff.”

Harry thought he heard Hermione huff as she put her hand down on the other side of Tracey. From Tracey’s quiet giggles, he figured he had heard right.

The lesson continued on easily enough. They learned that while staves were capable of much more powerful magic, it was inherently less accurate, and swords and daggers could only channel passive magic.

There was only fifteen minutes of the lesson left, when there was a knock on the door and Harry already had almost three sheets of notes. He looked up at the noise and looked towards the door, much as the rest of the room had done.

“Enter!” Professor Reyne called. The door clicked open and there stood Headmaster Dumbledore.

“Ah, sorry to interrupt, Professor – but I was hoping to borrow young Mr. Potter.”

All eyes in the room turned to him and he felt his face flush in heat.

“Of course, Headmaster. Potter, gather up your things.”

Harry nodded and quickly tidied his things away into his bag. At Neville’s confused look, Harry simply shrugged and threw his satchel over his shoulder. He edged past Neville and the three other students on their row before taking the stairs two at a time as he hurried toward the door.

Dumbledore smiled softly and stepped into the hallway, and Harry followed – making sure the door closed behind him.

“Headmaster?” Harry asked, confused.

“I have something for you in my office – something I think you’ll be most pleased about.”

Harry nodded and simply followed the Headmaster through the corridors in silence. They walked up to the seventh floor, and Harry felt the burn in his legs. It wasn’t much longer until they were before a large stone gargoyle. Dumbledore muttered a word and the stone statue stepped to the side. Harry quickly followed the Headmaster as he stepped onto a rising spiral staircase.

The stone steps stopped their grinding ascent, and Dumbledore stepped through a simple wooden door. Harry followed, his eyes darting around the spartan foyer as the Headmaster pushed open an ornate pair of oak doors, each covered in the most gorgeous golden embellishments of the four houses he had ever seen. The gold almost looked alive under the floating balls of white light.

Harry looked up as he found himself once more in Dumbledore’s office, Fawkes cawed at him from his golden perch.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the figure by the hearth. His silver hair was unmistakable, as was the armour that he wore.

“Arcturus!” Harry cried, dropping his bag, and sprinting to the patriarch of the Black family.

Arcturus turned with a smile and let out a huff as Harry collided with him. Harry looked up and saw the longer than normal stubble and dark circles around his eyes.

“I’ll leave you both to catch up, I think. Feel free to use this office for as long as you require – the portraits will remain asleep.” Dumbledore spoke. Harry looked over his shoulder to see the ancient man smiling slightly before bowing and leaving the room. Harry spun back to Arcturus as the door clicked shut.

“Where were you? What happened? What did you do? Is Sirius alright? Is he here?” Harry asked quickly, looking around the room for a moment before Arcturus began chuckling and led him to a pair of chairs at the desk. Harry blushed a little and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He grinned.

“Don’t worry yourself about it. I’m just as excited to see you.” Arcturus sighed, reclining in the chair, and closing his eyes for a moment as he relaxed. “It’s been a long month, Harry.”

“Where were you?”

“The Capitol.”

Harry blinked. “You and Sirius both had to go?” He asked, slowly as his shoulders tensed. Whatever reason they were summoned, it likely hadn’t been a good one.

“Aye – we both went. Viscount Trevelyan summoned us – _Someone_ was spreading of you planning a rebellion.”

Harry’s mind screeched to a halt as his jaw worked, but no sound came out. “Rebellion?” He finally managed.

“Rebellion.” Arcturus nodded slowly before he sat forward, his hands clasped together between his legs. “Sirius and I set them straight.”

“What did you do?”

“What we did isn’t important. I spent the month playing politics and talking to Lords and Ladies in private – I only spoke directly to Lord Trevelyan twice, believe it or not.”

“But if they think I’m planning a rebellion, they’ll think-“ Harry went quiet and stared open-mouthed at Arcturus, who was nodding slowly.

“Aye, they implied that, and worse, but don’t you worry.” Arcturus grunted roughly as he shifted in his chair a little. “They had no evidence, and besides, _we_ know that you’re doing no such thing.”

“If they had no evidence, then why would they say I am?”

Arcturus sighed and rubbed at his forehead tiredly. “Because that’s politics. They hoped to slander your name for some reason or another – why it’s been brought up now rather than years ago, I don’t know.”

Harry shifted in his seat a little. “The two of you are alright though, right?”

“Oh, we’re fine.” Arcturus smiled, waving away his concern with a tired smile. “Exhausted, annoyed and more than a little fed up, but we’re fine. I had Sirius get some rest while I came to see you.”

Harry stood and wrapped his arms around Arcturus again, squeezing as tightly as he could. “I missed you both.”

“We’re back now, Harry. We’re back.”


	18. Harry XI

The sound of their feet on the marble staircase echoed around the cavernous chamber far louder than usual. With the close of the school year, and with the ending of their exams, most students had already retired to their respective common rooms.

It had been gruelling, and he had seen more than one student in the higher years sniffling to themselves as the stress became too much for them. Perhaps, he had been given a glimpse into his own future – maybe when the time came for him to take his own OWLs and NEWTs he would be found sniffling into a textbook. Though, with Hermione and Daphne enforcing their strict revision schedules, he doubted that he would be so stricken.

As it was, the two girls had drafted a revision schedule for their small group all the way back in February – it even had allotted time slots for Quidditch and ‘ _being unproductive_ ’, as Hermione had helpfully pointed out. No doubt that had been one of Daphne’s suggestions.

Because they had begun revising so early, their exams had been an utter breeze. He had flown through the written and practical’s with nary a pause nor stutter. He had watched, more than a little amused, as others in his year panicked and floundered under the pressure. Perhaps, they had been given the necessary push to improve their school habits as a result. He had hope for some – not so much for others.

Thinking about his classmates, Harry had to fight the urge to smirk at the thought of Seamus. He and his fellow first years had a running tally of the number of cauldrons that the boy blew up. The most recent, Harry had been at the bench next to him – Daphne had explicitly stated she was never working next to Seamus again – and he had caught a glimpse of his fellow Gryffindor adding just a little too much _Newt Eye_. Harry had just enough time to duck under the bench before the tell-tale _Fwoom_ and the bench shook.

As he had peered out from his small, impromptu shelter, Harry had the pleasure to see Seamus covered in soot with his eyebrows completely gone and staring in shock. One of these days, he felt, Seamus was going to burn his eyeballs beyond repair.

Despite the improvised, and completely expected, explosion during his _Potions_ exam, their assessments had gone swimmingly. Oh, Hermione and Daphne were fretting over their answers on each and every test, a constant throughout the entire week. He, Tracey, and Neville had been content to let them vent and worry to one another, making the appropriate supporting comment when necessary.

“I’ll never understand how you can be so excited over plants…” Harry sighed, glancing up at the head of their small group. Neville had decided to show them a room he had found on the seventh floor when he had gone for a stroll after lunch.

“Hey, when _you_ find a room that’s overgrown like a jungle, I’ll act all put out and see how you like it.” Neville retorted, looking back at Harry as they stepped onto the landing of the second floor.

Tracey groaned. “But did you have to find it on the _seventh_ floor? _Morgana forsaken_ Gryffindors and their _bloody_ stairs.”

“Hey, it’s an adventure, alright?” Neville huffed, stepping onto the staircase for the third floor. “Besides, when I looked in there, there were some really fantastic plants.”

“I’ve always said he was part _Fae_.” Daphne muttered to the two girls. Harry rolled his eyes. It had been a theory Daphne had clung to when they were younger. Daphne Greengrass, lover of all things Morgana, had once claimed that Neville’s love for plants came from his _Fae_ ancestry. The only argument that had put a stop to that, was that Neville’s family were originally _Norse_.

He still remembered the pout that Daphne had sported for an entire week with some amusement.

“ _Fae_ … As in _Fairies_?” Hermione asked, looking between Daphne and Neville. “Don’t you think he’s a bit _big_?”

Harry groaned from the rear of their small group. “Nice one Hermione, now she won’t shut up about them for the next hour.”

Daphne scowled over her shoulder at him before sniffing haughtily and turned to look at his fellow Gryffindor. “That’s the classic misconception. The _Fae_ were a race, just like humans – according to the older texts, of course. Over the years, the term has been applied to all manner of creatures. It’s quite fascinating, really.”

“So, what did they look like?” Tracey asked, and Harry sighed quietly and focused on climbing the stairs. The things he suffered through for his friends – they should really consider offering him a medal of some sort.

“Nobody knows – only that _Morgana La Fay_ was raised among them, hence her name. Morgana La _Fae_.” Daphne grinned, standing just a little taller as they reached the third floor.

Just as he stepped off of the staircase, Neville jumped back and nearly bowled the girls over. The staircases, which had a penchant for moving at odd times, had just cut off their access to the fourth floor. He watched it lazily swing to the far side of the room where it connected with a smaller landing.

Harry sighed and turned around, only to watch the staircase for the second floor do the same thing. They were stuck there – and he knew from the stories of his fellow first years, only a professor or the Headmaster could move them back.

Excellent – now all it would take would be for Filch to spot them and they’d be in detention for the last week of school. The perfect way to cap off the year.

Harry looked around – the only way they could move from where they were was a long corridor that finished in a dead-end. While there were doors all along it, each with a small sconce with a floating ball of silver-white light, the doors were all shut. There weren’t even any portraits around.

He sighed and moved to sit down against the wall – Neville moving to sit opposite him. The girls, on the other hand, were whispering frantically between themselves. Harry shrugged at his best friend and grinned a little.

“Just _what_ do the two of you think you’re doing?” Hermione demanded, looking between the two of them. Perhaps it was the light, but her hair seemed a little bit bushier at that moment.

“Sitting?” Neville replied, uncertainly, as he glanced at the floor and where Hermione was standing – her hands on her hips and looking positively furious.

“Sitting? _Sitting_? What good will that do us? If we get caught here, we’ll be in detention until fifth year!”

Harry got to his feet and stepped over to her, moving her away from the others. He could see the first indicators of her anxiety making themselves known. The way her brow furrows and her eyes tightened in the corners – even the way she pushed her thumb and index finger tightly together absently. He placed a hand on her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze – of all of them, she seemed to respond to him the best. After a moment, she relaxed and let out a long breath.

“Can you call Clara?” She whispered, her eyes darting to their three other friends.

“I _could_ , yes,” Harry sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders, and gently leading her back to the others. “But she’s out hunting. _Nothing_ is going to happen. Even if Filch found us, he’d have to go get a professor to free us. They can’t blame us for Hogwarts being _Hogwarts_.”

Tracey was the first to join Neville, sliding down the wall and placing her satchel between her legs. It wasn’t long until Daphne and Hermione also took up positions on the floor, with the latter immediately pulling a book from her bag.

“So, Daphne… Those Fairies.” Neville grinned, shooting Harry a cheeky grin. Harry scowled.

“The _Fae_ and Fairies are two _completely_ different things, Longbottom.” Daphne sniffed, tilting her chin in the air a little.

“I think it is absolutely fascinating.” Hermione added, looking up from her book, scooting a little further back against the wall.

Harry mouthed a few choice words at the Longbottom heir across from him, and a glare for added effect – to which the boy responded with a quiet snicker, until Tracey elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He was suddenly thankful that all four of his friends sat against the wall across from him.

“Oh, it _is_!” Daphne sighed. “There is so much we don’t know, or that has faded into myth or legend.” “And even those have been lost to Muggle religion and revision, even _we_ don’t know what they were anymore.”

“Sounds like fairy tales to me.” Neville shrugged, pulling his knees up to his chest and tilting his head against the stone behind him.

“Of course _you_ would, Longbottom – if it doesn’t grow in a pot, you’re simply not interested.” Daphne retorted, giving him a pointed look as she leaned forward. Harry quietly chuckled to himself – she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t think you’re out of the woods, Potter – if it’s not flying, or spell-casting, you’d rather be asleep.” Tracey added, and Harry gaped at her.

“Lies and slander right there. I have a deep respect for the written word!” He gasped, holding a hand to his chest.

“ _Boys_.” Hermione muttered, loud enough for them all to hear. The two girls on either side of her hummed their agreement.

Harry looked at Neville and then at the trio of girls. “We could be quite offended by that, you know.” Neville nodded his agreement.

“You’ll be the first to know if I ever intend to overtly offend you.” Daphne sighed, as if explaining something to a child. He watched her pull out one of her own books from her satchel – one of their books for _Charms_ , judging by the familiar cover. Tracey, likewise, removed a book about Familiars.

“I think they’re purposefully ignoring us, Harry.” Neville muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Nothing ever gets past you, does it?”

“You’re mean when you’re stuck in a corridor, has anyone ever told you that?”

“No, I think you’re the first, actually.”

“Well now I just feel special.”

Harry chuckled and caught Daphne rolling her eyes behind her book. Tracey seemed to be torn between amused and exasperated, while Hermione just seemed completely unaware of the world around her.

They remained there for a while – the three girls reading quietly with the occasional whisper, while Neville and himself were simply content to talk between themselves.

They discussed a number of things – from who they thought would take home the Seasonal Cup in August, to what Harry was most excited to do over the Summer Break. The question had given him pause, and he had tapped his right knee – which he had pulled towards him at some point, with his left remaining stretched out – and chewed on his bottom lip. What _was_ it that he was the most excited about?

Was it finally attending the Wizengamot? He would be confined to the viewing gallery with the other heirs of his age, but it was wonderfully exciting – well, as exciting as watching a room full of stuffy old men and women argue back and forth while speaking in circles could be, he supposed. Or perhaps that was simply Sirius’s comments over the years colouring his expectations.

Maybe it would be his opportunity to continue his martial skills? Oh, he had no doubt that he would be battered, bruised and tossed into the dirt the entire time, but there was something about holding a sword that sang to that childish part of him that still dreamed of Knights and Damsels in distress.

He also could barely wait to ride his stallion – _Arlan_. He was a large, powerful Friesian horse with the most beautiful slate coat. Sirius had bought him for Harry for his tenth birthday – much to the protests of Remus and Arcturus. At the time, Harry had been riding for only a year, and was a far cry away from being able to ride what was the modern equivalent – in Britain, at least – of a _War Horse_.

Contrary to his expectations, however, Arlan was patient and took to Harry almost as much as Harry to him. At first, they had thought that he had bonded to the horse – it wasn’t uncommon, after all. Many witches and wizards bonded to several animals, of all kinds, from the lowliest toad up to and including the fiercest dragon; horses were no exception. However, the bond that formed between Harry and Arlan was different.

His bond with Clara and Hedwig was different on a number of levels. He would always know the mood of both of his companions, as they would always know his. It was a deep, instinctual understanding between them that couldn’t be put into words. He loved them both deeply, fiercely, and there was little he would not do for them.

His relationship with the stallion was based on a trust that had been built through Harry tending to the horse himself. It was Harry that would brush him down. It was Harry who would clean out his stall. It was _Harry_ who fed and watered him and had done so up until the day he had left for Hogwarts.

He would be the first to admit that he had fallen in love with riding a horse during his first visit to the Capitol and took every opportunity since to do so any time he could. If his studies were done, and his responsibilities at Blackwall taken care of, it was far more likely he could be found on the back of Arlan than on his broomstick.

He loved flying – and truly, he did – there was something artificial in the way that it was so _safe_. There were so many charms and runes built into the broom, that he often felt detached from the experience. There was rarely a gust of wind that would be so powerful as to cause him to make a correction. On the back of Arlan, however, he could feel the muscles of the stallion below him as he galloped – he could _hear_ the puffs of breath as his lungs worked. He felt so alive in a way that he just couldn’t with flying a broomstick.

Or, perhaps he was the most excited about Sirius’s wedding? He had been exchanging letters with Sirius over the course of the year and more often than not, found himself answering the hastily written scrawl that passed for handwriting when his Godfather was stressed over something or another that pertained to his upcoming vows.

He had met the future Lady Black over the Easter Break in April. She seemed just the sort of woman to keep Sirius in line. While Sirius was, for the most part, easy going and not at all like his name implied half the time, he was still a passionate and dedicated man. _Merlin_ , Harry was the living proof of how passionate and dedicated Sirius was – after all, he held Sirius up as someone to aspire to be – though, not _all_ the time, he supposed.

Amelia Bones had immediately struck Harry as a stern, no-nonsense woman. While she may appear that way at first glance, she was in fact, quite warm and welcoming, with a dry wit that often he Sirius scrambling for a rebuttal.

He thought he could see himself coming to care for Amelia as much as the rest of his family. It would be nice to have an adult woman in his life that wasn’t a House Elf. While he cringed at the thought of her tucking him in and reading him bedtime stories, he found himself imagining other scenarios. When he was older, he thought he could go to Sirius and ask the old dog about girls. Then, he could promptly ignore _said advice_ and go and ask Amelia. Lispy was out of the question – she would suggest tidying their house, or something.

No – if there was something he was _terribly excited_ about; it would be returning to Arpton Keep. It would be the longest stay in the castle they had ever done. Their trips to the Potter estate in the past had only lasted a week, this summer, though, they would be staying for three!

He had plans to take Arlan, of course, and they would be arriving directly there from Rosestone, whose _Ro’rim_ was more easily accessible than the one in Blackwall – at least for the horse. He could imagine it now, waking up with the rest of the castle in the Lord’s Chambers – breaking his fast with his family and spending his days riding and practicing with his sword.

While he doubted that he would ever truly _use_ a sword, it was still a fun hobby and an excellent way for him to keep fit. He had seen far too many overweight witches and wizards visit Arcturus over the years – if swinging a sword around for a few hours a day and eating the dirt kept him fit, well he was all for it. Perhaps those at Arpton, who extensively used their weapons and trained with them would be willing to pass on their knowledge if he asked nicely.

“Did you say something?” Tracey asked, looking up at Harry, interrupting his train of thought. He blinked, looking back at the witch across from him.

“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, tilting his head a little.

“I thought I heard you say-“

Whatever Tracey was going to say was interrupted by the loud clang against one of the doors further into the corridor – the metal latch rattled noisily as dust from the stone above it lazily fell through the air.

Daphne and Hermione looked up from their books for a moment, curiously looking toward the door. Harry stood slowly and began walking towards it.

“Potter, are you _stupid_?” Daphne called, scrambling to her feet behind him.

“What? I’m only having a look!” Harry tried, rolling his eyes as the raven-haired Slytherin blocked his path and held him in place.

The door rattled again, though this time it was far gentler. What could possibly be making that racket? Was it some kind of creature, or perhaps a student had been trapped in there by something – but then, if it _was_ a student, why were they simply banging the door now and not calling out for help?

Harry blinked as Tracey stepped around both himself and Daphne – her bag, much like both of theirs, had been left where she had been sat.

“Hang on, why does she get to have a look?” Neville asked, looking pointedly at the terrifying Slytherin that was preventing Harry from advancing on the door. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Because _she_ won’t go running through the door. _Bloody Gryffindors_.” Daphne muttered, releasing her grip on Harry as she turned to look at her fellow Slytherin who was busy looking through the keyhole.

“I can see… something, I guess?” Tracey replied slowly, though she leapt back from the door a second before it rattled again, visibly bending under whatever force was striking it. Harry rushed over to help her up.

After helping Tracey back to her feet, Harry turned to look at the others, who were all staring at the door with varying expressions. Daphne was visibly wary – he could understand that. After all, whatever made that much noise obviously wasn’t to be taken lightly. Hermione, ever the curious one, was obviously fighting the urge to look, and Neville it seemed was trying to visibly hold himself back from opening the door.

He sighed, looking around at his friends. “Look, it’s bad enough that we’re stuck here – do you really want to be caught looking at something we’re not supposed to?”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t, right?” Neville asked.

“No Longbottom,” Daphne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, and shaking her head slowly. “That’s not how that works…”

Tracey stepped back up to the keyhole as Harry rubbed his face tiredly. “Whatever it is, at least it’s stopped moving... I think it’s asleep?” She said slowly, her face contorted in confusion.

Harry wanted to take a peek even less now – whatever made that kind of racket _in its sleep_ had no business being anywhere near himself. The last thing he wanted was some repeat of the Troll on Halloween – he still woke in a cold sweat sometimes.

“If it’s asleep, it shouldn’t be an issue then.” Neville said, pulling his wand out and hitting the lock with a quick _Alohomora_ before any of them could stop him. The door opened with a click and swung into the corridor a little, and Harry winced. When nothing happened, he spun on Neville.

“Neville, in all the _stupid_ things you could have done!” He snapped, that pit of anxiety still settled deep in his stomach.

“Relax, Harry – it’s asleep. We can lock it up after having a peek.”

“ _Oh my_!” Tracey gasped quietly. Harry spun on his heel and looked over at the Slytherin, who had her head poked through the door. “It’s an Occamy!”

“A what?” Neville asked, hurrying to her side, and opening the door a little wider. From his position behind them, Harry caught a glimpse of the purple and teal feathers and the rich, turquoise skin.

“It’s a Far Eastern serpent. It has a beak, and two wings. Their shells are made of pure silver!”

“You’re joking!” Daphne gasped; she too had joined the pair at the door. “It’s gorgeous!”

Harry and Hermione, it seemed, were the only ones sensible enough to stay away from the door – although, he would be the first to admit to his growing curiosity. Hermione was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet at his side. He rolled his eyes and finally stepped over to the door – his bushy-haired friend following him immediately.

He suppressed a gasp of his own now that the door was almost entirely open to accommodate them all. It was _huge_ – easily fifteen long and coiled throughout the room. It appeared the banging, upon first glance, was a result of one of its wings twitching – which had obviously shifted a little, judging by the fact it was still twitching and not threatening to break the door down.

Its large head, and what he could see of its wicked looking beak, was tucked comfortably under that very same wing. Harry gulped a little.

“Say, Tracey – how do you know about this?” Neville asked after a moment.

Tracey shrugged. “I like exotic animals. Not as much as you like plants, mind.”

“Is that a trap door?” Hermione asked, pointing to a dark patch that was just a little darker than the rest of the floor.

“Looks like it.” Daphne sighed, rubbing her temples. “No – we’re _not_ going to open it, Neville.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it!”

“But I didn’t _say_ anything!”

“Shut up, before you wake it up!” Harry whispered, pointing between his two friends. He rubbed at his forehead. “How did it get in here?”

“Oh, that’s easy – it was placed in here. Occamies can change their size, depending on the space.” Tracey replied happily, her hands clasped comfortably at the small of her back and a small smile on her face.

“Where did you read all of this?” Neville asked slowly, leaning into the room a little more.

“ _Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them_ , of course.”

“Of course it was a _Newt Scamander_ book.” Daphne sighed, nudging her fellow Slytherin with her elbow playfully. Tracey stuck her tongue out.

“It’s perfectly safe while it’s asleep – just don’t step on its tail, I guess.” Tracey smiled, stepping into the room a little.

“Tracey-“ Harry whispered, reaching out to grab her a moment too late. And she had the audacity to mock Gryffindors for not thinking things through? He was going to murder her, and no jury would ever find him at fault.

“She’s positively Gryffindor – I love it.” Neville grinned, following the girl into the room slowly.

Then, against all his previous assumptions, it was Hermione that went next. If Hermione was stepping into a room with a potentially dangerous creature, then he was positive the end-days were upon them. _Merlin_ , why couldn’t they have just stayed at the end of the corridor – the girls could have continued reading their books and he and Neville would have kept chatting about the Summer.

“I’m going to _bloody_ kill them.” He muttered, stepping past Daphne. He would drag them back to the door kicking and screaming if he had to. He wasn’t about to become Occamy food with only a week of the term left.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tracey whispered, easily stepping over or around the coiled length of the serpent.

“Tracey, you _bloody_ -“

“ _Language_!” Hermione whispered furiously back.

“ _Seriously_? You’re picking _now_ to correct me for swearing? Don’t you think it’s a bit redundant?” Harry whispered in response, gesturing to the creature in the room.

Hermione looked ready to say something, but Neville’s excited whoop, followed by a quiet click echoed in the room. The Occamy twitched but didn’t wake – _thank Merlin_.

Harry’s head snapped to Neville, who was holding the trap door open proudly and looking in. Daphne quietly stormed up to him and cuffed him over the back of the head. “I _told_ you not to think about doing that!”

“Aren’t you the _least_ bit curious?”

They were all gathered around the trap door now, crouching low to peer into the darkness when he heard the dull _crunch_ of broken eggshell under one of their boots. His head shot up to look at the Occamy, who’s eye had snapped open – the large, glossy hazel eye looking directly at him.

“ _Bollocks_ , everyone down the trap door – _now_!” He yelled, pushing Hermione, who disappeared with a shocked squeak. Tracey was second, then Neville, and then himself – Daphne having taken the trap door out of Neville’s hand as she had stormed over to him.

There was a burst of movement behind him from the large creature, and a pained scream. His heart leapt into his throat the same moment he landed on a bed of tangled vines, bouncing twice as he did.

Daphne was a moment later, grasping at her shoulder and groaning incoherently. Harry didn’t need to look any closer to know that the Occamy had caught Daphne with the tip of its beak. He just hoped it wasn’t too bad.

Harry looked around in the darkness – there was a little light, but not much. He moved his hand, only to find one of the vines wrap itself tightly around his wrist. Even through the long sleeve of his doublet, it felt slimy and disgusting. He tried not to think about the fact he was sitting on a whole bed of them.

“Something just grabbed my leg!” Tracey yelled in the dark.

“ _Harry Potter_ , you pushed me!” Hermione snapped, blowing her long hair from her face before slapping him on the arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry – would you have preferred to have been eaten by an Occamy?”

“That’s beside the point!” Hermione snapped. “You had _no idea_ what was down here!”

“Better than being up there.” Harry muttered to himself, his eyes darting back to Daphne, who was still groaning and clutching her shoulder.

“Oh, I know what this is!” Neville yelled excitedly. “It’s _Devil’s Snare_!”

“It’s what?” Tracey asked, confused. “That doesn’t sound ominous _at all_.”

“Oh, like a fifteen-foot Occamy sounds perfectly safe?”

“Right, listen here Longbottom-“

“ _Shut up_!” Harry yelled, squirming against the vines that continued to wrap themselves around him. If he was going to die, strangled by a _bloody_ plant, he would do it without hearing his friend’s bicker. “Daphne’s hurt and I refuse to die while you two are arguing.”

“Oh, we won’t die.” Neville shrugged. “You just have to relax.”

“Oh, _real_ comforting Neville.” Tracey muttered, continuing to jostle against the slimy vines.

“Seriously – watch.”

Harry watched as Neville stilled his body before sinking through the tangled mass. At first glance, Harry had thought the plant had finally decided to swallow him whole before his voice called up from beneath him.

“Tracey – go still and I’ll catch you. It’s a bit of a hard landing otherwise.”

Harry, who gone completely still, regretted it the moment the vines let him pass through. He landed in a heap next to Neville and felt the air leave his lungs in a deep wheeze. Not a moment later, he had the air knocked from him a second time when Hermione landed on top of him. The two lay there for a moment, groaning, and trying to suck in what air they had been robbed of.

A pair of feet appeared in his peripheral vision – Tracey’s, no doubt.

“Told you the landing was less than desirable.” Neville muttered from somewhere behind her.

“You’re an arse.” Harry groaned, moaning a little as Hermione pulled herself off of him. She could have been a little gentler.

“I think you’re right – I definitely preferred you catching me to this. _Merlin_ , Harry – you look pathetic.”

“Eat shit.” He muttered, pushing himself up. “You didn’t have someone land on you.”

“And just _what_ is that supposed to mean?” Hermione demanded, rounding on him just as Neville caught Daphne.

“That it’s not fun having someone land on you.” He groused, propping himself up against the stone wall. He briefly glanced up and noted the drop must have been at least six feet – frankly it was a wonder they hadn’t cracked their heads or hurt their backs.

Hermione sniffed before turning to where Neville was gently lowering Daphne to the floor. The small corridor they seemed to be in was slightly better lit than it had been above them, though, not by much; the orange light coming from fluorescent orange lichen that lined the walls.

Daphne was sweating but otherwise seemed coherent. The leather of the coat on her left shoulder was torn, and the tear looked like it continued down her back some ways. “Harry, help me get this off.” Neville grunted, using a quick cutting charm to avoid moving her.

Harry kneeled next to Daphne and with a few quick flicks of his wand, sections of the coat began falling away. There was a pained hiss when they finally had to sit Daphne up to remove the last little bit, but at the very least they could see the extent of the damage.

Harry could also see that her doublet looked wet and sticky.

“Does anyone have any _Dittany_?” Harry asked, looking at his friends. Hermione and Tracey shook their head, but Neville pulled a small glass vial from his coat.

“I keep some on hand – some plants have a habit of biting.” He shrugged. “The doublet needs to come off – Daphne, are you wearing a tunic underneath?”

The girl nodded quickly as her eyes fluttered and her heavy panting continued. Her legs, which were stretched out in front of her, writhed a little as the boys jostled the wound.

“Okay… Tracey, Hermione – can the two of you get her doublet off and drip this into the wound? It needs to go the full length of it.” Neville said, looking at the two girls. They both nodded and found themselves switching places. Harry and Neville turned their backs on the three girls, wands out and, at least, looked ready; it was only proper and all.

“Throw us the doublet once it’s off and we’ll make a sling for her.” Harry called over his shoulder, scanning the dimly lit corridor, and trying not to fiddle with his wand. Luckily for Daphne, she had been caught in the left shoulder, which meant she could still use her wand if she had to.

Daphne let out a pained yell just before Harry found the doublet hitting him in the back of the head. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but think it had been Hermione who had thrown it, and her aim _hadn’t_ been off.

He grumbled as he pulled the doublet over his shoulder. With a few slices, he had a strip of cloth that was long enough to be fashioned into a sling – he wouldn’t be able to tie it until Daphne’s wound had been seen to.

There was a muffled scream, and the scraping of boots on the stone floor before it became eerily quiet. Harry’s heart was in his throat – never in his life had he expected to hear those sounds from Daphne of all people.

Daphne, the toughest of all three of them, had never so much as sniffled from some bump or scraped knee. Even when she’d fallen from her broom last Summer, she had simply sat back up, made a passing comment of how stupid they had been, and that was that.

To know that she was in _agony_ behind him – it was almost too much to handle.

“Okay, I think it’s done.” Tracey muttered; her voice strained.

The two of them turned around and stepped up to the three girls. Daphne was in her usual ice-blue tunic, and slumped forward against Tracey. Harry winced as he glanced at Daphne’s back. It was a long and thin cut, from her shoulder to the small of her back, no doubt agonizingly painful. The _Dittany_ didn’t help with the pain either, it was a restorative unguent, not a pain reliever.

Despite that, the cut now looked several days old and was, thankfully, no longer bleeding. Even in the light of the lichen, Daphne looked pale and exhausted. He wasn’t even sure if she would have a scar. No doubt the Occamy’s beak was sharp, but it seemed Daphne had been caught with the very tip – barely wider than his own, almost faded lightning scar.

“Will she be alright?”

“ _She_ will be – I just need a moment.” Daphne groaned, hissing as Harry rushed to place her arm in a sling. The less her shoulder moved, the better. The surface wound might have been healed by the _Dittany_ , but there was no guarantee that it had repaired the soft tissue.

“This was _stupid_.” He muttered to himself, frowning as he tied the knot around Daphne’s good shoulder.

“Stop frowning, Potter – makes you look less pretty.” Daphne sighed, tugging on a strand of hair that had come loose at the side of his head.

“She’s got a point.” Neville muttered, running a hand down his face.

“Don’t you _bloody_ start.” Harry groused, frowning at his best friend. When the two had met, Neville had been timid and cautious – when had that boy been replaced with the fool before him, who ran into dangerous, heedless of the consequences?

“I can _hear_ your frown, Harry.” Neville sighed, glancing back at him. Harry felt his expression soften immediately when he saw the pained look on his best friend’s face. “I was bored, but I never wanted _this_.”

“It makes everything startlingly real, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked quietly, looking at Harry oddly. He nodded slowly – no doubt she was reminded of the _last_ time any of them were hurt. His escapade with the Troll.

He looked at the girl before him, in her sweat drenched tunic and her pale skin. Had he looked somewhat similar to this on Halloween? No doubt he’d looked _worse_ – he could still hear the wet crack of his head against the wall. He grimaced a little. “Can you stand?” He asked.

Daphne nodded slowly, and Harry helped her to her feet, allowing her to lean on him as much as she needed. They _had_ to get out of here.

“Where to now?” Neville asked, looking around.

“We have to get Daphne to Madame Pomfrey – Harry, can you call Clara?” Hermione asked, her voice hopeful.

“Not unless you want to catch on fire – the area isn’t big enough. If we can find a large chamber, I could try then.”

The group nodded and looked around the small tunnel they were in. It was rough, wet stone that looked more at home inside a cave than inside the school. There was a door a little ways down from where they had landed – an ancient, rotten gathering of planks that barely resembled a door at that.

“I guess we go through that then.” Tracey muttered. “Is it too late to remind everyone to be careful?”

Harry snorted and threw Daphne’s good arm over his shoulder, letting her lean against him. They moved slowly, setting the pace to Daphne’s liking more than their own. Even now, after the _Dittany_ , she felt cold and clammy to his touch. If there was ever a sight from this year he never wanted to see again – it was this.

He could manage his own injuries well enough – but seeing his friends hurt had always cut through him. He sighed as the door opened with nary a push from Tracey. It revealed a similar tunnel to the one that they were in, continuing off into the gloom until it rounded a bend. There was more of the odd, glowing lichen, seeming to be guiding them ever onward.

“We must be below the dungeons.” Neville muttered into the silence. Not even the dripping of water echoed along the corridor.

“That’s impossible – we were on the third floor.” Tracey grumbled from the front, one hand carefully braced against the wall and her eyes trained on where she placed her feet. Harry didn’t blame her, the floor looked slick – a slip could be quite painful.

“What if we fell further than we thought?” Hermione suggested, carefully stepping over a large protrusion on the floor.

“It’s not _unreasonable_ , I suppose.” Harry grunted, helping Daphne around that same protrusion. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. There was a definite sense of walking _down_ rather than _up_ , which wasn’t filling him with any particular sense of confidence.

“I was going to say because of the Lichen. It’s _Mo’zarde Lichen_ – it only grows underground. I thought it looked familiar.”

“Of course you’d know about a plant that glows in the dark.” Harry snorted, causing the rest of them to chuckle.

“Are you complaining about the light as well Potter?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then stop complaining. I bet you just assumed that all moss glowed. Honestly, you’ve no appreciation for the more subtle parts of life.”

“You think this lichen is _subtle_?”

“Of course – why wouldn’t it be?”

“Never change, Neville.”

They continued in silence after that – occasionally stopping for a few minutes to let Daphne rest before carrying on. Eventually, the floor began to level out and they came to a door with a pair of stone statues on either side of it, the corridor having opened into something that seemed like an antechamber.

The stone walls, floor, and ceiling were smooth and unblemished, an odd sight considering that the corridor they had just left been so roughly cut and covered in lichen. The two statues stood at attention on either side of the large door, hewn from similar stone as everything else in the chamber, which was draped in chains. His eyes couldn’t help but linger on the massive swords in the statues’ hands, pointed down and pressed into the stone floor in front of their feet.

“Something isn’t right.” Harry muttered, eyeing the statues carefully.

“They look too clean.” Hermione agreed in a whisper, though, in the silence of the chamber, that whisper may as well have been a scream. If he weren’t with his friends and worried about Daphne’s injury, he might have gone mad. The quiet had creeped up on him, slowly edging his anxiety to new heights. He hadn’t consciously noticed, but everything had been muffled as they approached this chamber. His heart was a drum beat to which he marched and his blood _roared_ in his ears.

“ _Who comes before us?”_

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, shattering the maddening silence, and Harry found his head turning to search the corridor. When his head turned to look at the door once more, he caught sight of the two cobalt orbs in the visors of the helmets of the guards. He couldn’t help but shrink under their stare.

“We fell down through the _Devil’s Snare_ and we’re looking for a way out.” Tracey answered – even from the corner of his eye, he could see her nervously backing away from the two statues.

“Is there a way out through that door?” Neville asked, glancing over at Daphne. “One of our friends was hurt and she needs help.”

There was silence for a moment.

“ _One question you may ask, then you must perform the task_.”

“Why didn’t they answer the question?” Asked Tracey, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Why are they talking so strange? Seems a bit excessive for a couple of lumps of rock.” Neville said, slightly louder than Tracey, still eyeing the pair of statues.

Hermione sighed next to him. “We get to ask one question, and then we have to do whatever task they demand of us. Honestly, were none of you listening?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the shrugs from Neville and Tracey, and thought he heard the faintest snort from Daphne. “Okay, so going from the fact it ignored the question about an exit, I assume it can’t or won’t tell us.”

“It’s unlikely.” Hermione agreed with a single nod as she began to worry at her bottom lip.

“What happens if we fail your task?” Tracey asked, turning to the statues. Harry saw that her gaze was focused entirely on the sharp blades they held.

“ _Death_.”

“Oh, excellent – no pressure then.” Neville grunted. “Really lifts the mood, that does.”

They all stumbled back a pace, with Daphne hissing her displeasure, as the statues took a step forward and brought their blades up in a ready position. Harry heard Tracey’s terrified moan. If they failed, there was no escape for them – the chamber led to a dead end beneath the _Devil’s Snare_ , and none of them knew any combat spells.

Oh, they could cast a cutting charm or a burst of flame – but what good would that do against _stone_? Besides, Harry had no doubt in his mind that they would be dead before finishing the incantation let alone the wand movement.

When the statues didn’t move further, he felt himself releasing a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“ _It’s best if you use me, but do keep me cool and especially don’t lose me, because without me you’re useless. What am I?_ ”

“It’s a riddle!” Hermione gasped, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on the words.

“Well I’m useless then.” Neville muttered.

Tracey patted him on the arm. “Self-awareness is the first indicator of intelligence.”

Neville muttered darkly to himself, but Harry kept his focus on Hermione. If there was one of them he thought would answer it correctly – it was her.

“Your head?” She asked quietly after a minute of pacing back and forth. Harry’s heart found its way into his throat as the statues moved once more.

When they didn’t bring their swords down on Neville and Tracey, who were the closest to them, Harry felt his shoulders sag in relief. Instead, the statues took a step back and returned to their original flanking positions by the door. The chains that criss-crossed the door retreated into the stone on either side, as if they had never been there in the first place.

Neville went first, taking each step slowly until he was between the two guardians. When his hand touched the wood, the door swung open easily to reveal a wide room. Harry followed Tracey and Hermione, though just as he was helping Daphne through, the voice returned.

“ _Beware the one who came before, searching for a treasure and more_.”

Harry was just about to ask what they meant when the door closed abruptly, locking them inside.

Unlike the corridor, this room was large and cavernous, with huge pillars of stone that stretched as high as he could see. All around the room, scones of balls of light illuminated their surroundings, casting large shadows across the floor and walls.

Before them, was a large set of square tiles, each with a different rune in the centre. Harry recognised another trap when he saw it.

“Clara!” He called into the chamber. He waited a number of minutes before calling again. There was no response. He groaned – this wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d woken up this morning.

“Well, that’s a first.” Neville muttered, looking around the room for the tell-tale burst of flame.

“We’ll just have to carry on and try again when we can.” Tracey sighed. “Anyone any good with Runes?”

They shook their heads, but Daphne stood a little under her own weight. “I’ve been reading them since last Summer.” She murmured. Even now, as she pulled her arm from around Harry’s neck, she was visibly trembling and swaying from side to side.

The chamber wasn’t a long one, perhaps only twenty metres or so, with each tile being around a meter on each side. If death was the result of failure of getting a riddle correct, he didn’t want to imagine what failing this would be.

“Lift me up so I can see to the other side.” Daphne grunted. With a swish and a flick of Harry wand, he slowly levitated her into the air. He held her there for some time, allowing her to see the entirety of the floor before them. She eventually gave a small wave and he brought her back down.

“What did you see?” Neville asked, helping her back to her own feet, and caught her as her knees buckled under her weight.

“This rune here,” She sighed tiredly, pointing to a tile that was to their right. Harry noted it was a three-pronged stick with a triangle stuck to its side half-way up. “It’s a rune of protection. It’s the only one I saw that went all the way across.”

“Neville – can you carry her?” Harry asked, before his best friend nodded. “Right then, Neville you go first, and we’ll follow you.”

Neville scooped up Daphne, who muttered in protest before she curled in on herself little. Harry felt his jaw clench at the sight of her – there were no protestations, and no threats of violence for doing such a thing. She must have been in more pain than they’d realised.

Harry watched as Neville stepped onto the first tile, and the next. Tracey went second with Hermione right behind her. Hermione paused before the second tile and glanced back at him; her brown eyes filled with worry. “Don’t worry – I’m right behind you.” Harry smiled, but he didn’t think it was as reassuring as he’d hoped it would be.

She nodded and took the step onto the next tile. The path wasn’t linear, and by the time Harry stepped onto the stone platform on the far side of the room, he’d travelled the length _and_ width of the chamber.

“Can you keep carrying her?” He asked, looking at Neville. Despite his chubby cheeks, Neville was one of the strongest boys he knew – he regularly picked Harry up as if he weighed nothing, but with everything going on, he didn’t want to risk Neville dropping Daphne.

“Aye, she’s lighter than she looks. I’ll let you know if she’s getting too heavy.” Neville nodded, shifting his hands just a little.

Harry nodded and took the lead, making his way up the stone stairs that led to another door – this one, thankfully, wasn’t wrapped in chains. It opened with a single push and bounced off of the wall with a dull thud.

The chamber they stepped into was similar to the one they had just left, but for the gaping ten metre pit in the middle of it that stretched from wall to wall.

“Who designed this place? It’s a death trap!” Tracey muttered, kicking a stone over the edge once they approached it. They listened to it bounce off of the walls, but never so much as heard it hit the bottom. They all grimaced as they looked at one another.

“How are we supposed to get over there?” Hermione asked, looking around. “There’s no way across.”

Harry cast his eyes around the chamber. While there were more balls of the silver-white lights, there wasn’t anything helpful laying around, like there often were in the stories he’d read as a child. Just a room bisected with a gaping chasm.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, despite how grimy they felt. Hermione seemed no better, with her skirt and tights covered in whatever had coated the floor when she had landed on him.

 _Gods_ , how long had they even been down here?

He watched as Hermione snorted and got a determined look in her eye. Her gaze swept the small piles of sand, dust, and dirt dotted about on the floor. She scooped a small pile into her hand and _threw_ it into the chasm before them – she looked oddly satisfied.

Harry’s eyes tracked the scattered particles as they gently fell through the air, swirling on the current as they went. Tension built across his shoulders the further they dropped into the chasm – he winced, full expecting the floor to drop from beneath his feet or the ceiling to come crashing down.

Nothing happened.

“Sorry.” She said sheepishly at their incredulous stares. “Saw it in a movie once and I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“A what?” Asked Neville, still looking as confused as Harry felt.

“A _movie_ Neville,” groused Hermione, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “A Muggle thing.”

“We could levitate one another across, I suppose?” Tracey suggested after a long silence, looking between her wand and the chasm. Harry cocked a brow at that – would that work?

“How far is the gap, do you think?” He asked, trying to judge it for himself. “Hermione had to have gotten some of her idea over there with her throw.”

“About fifteen metres or so.” Neville muttered, looking between the chasm and Daphne. “Would it be one at a time, or would you be able to manage Daphne and I at the same time?”

“It’ll be tough, doing you both.” Hermione sighed, shifting from foot to foot. It seemed none of them were terribly excited about being levitated across what amounted to a bottomless pit.

“Hermione and I will go first, then we’ll bring Neville and Daphne, and then you Tracey.” Harry nodded.

They all nodded, and Harry stood next to the edge of the gorge and felt his heart race wildly in his chest. _Merlin_ , they’d better not get the spell wrong. It was a _long_ way down.

He gave a startled yelp as the feeling of weightlessness took over, and he looked over his shoulder. Both Neville and Tracey were pointing their wands at him and Hermione, who was in the air next to him. As they began to move over the chasm, Hermione’s hand snatched out and grabbed his left – he winced as she crushed it, and her nails dug into his skin. He squeezed back and tried not to look down.

Their feet touched the stone platform on the far side, and both of them dropped to their knees and fell forward. There were no words as they knelt there, panting, and simply basking in the feel of the stone beneath them. It had been a strange feeling, to have the world disappear beneath his feet, and not one that he had any desire to replicate any time soon.

“I’m never doing that again.” Hermione panted. Harry looked at her, noting the slight sheen of sweat on her brow and the way her limbs trembled uncontrollably. Of course, he’d completely forgotten – Hermione’s fear of heights! He grimaced and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“We got through it – you’re fine now.”

Hermione nodded weakly before she collapsed back on her arse. Her hair had been hiding her face for the most part, and Harry saw the shininess in her eyes as she fought back her tears. Immediately, Harry scrambled over to her, ignoring how the stone cut into his knees and palms, and pulled her into a hug.

He rocked her back and forth for a minute, whispering soothing words into her hair as she clung to him. He wouldn’t hold her tears against her – she had been forced to experience her greatest fear. If there had been any doubt as to how she had ended up in the House of the Brave, the last few minutes had washed them away.

After all, he still remembered his biggest fear – that overwhelming sense of helplessness as he had crouched behind that boulder at the side of the road, watching as Sirius and Remus fought against those men in their patchwork armour. That moment when he had felt that arm circle around his neck and the wand-tip digging into his skin, _that_ was what had truly terrified him – _that_ feeling of helplessness, of those men and women having died for nothing. The idea of letting Sirius and Remus down.

He shook himself and drew in a shuddering breath. He looked down at Hermione, who was sniffing quietly into his doublet. “Come on, we should get the others.”

Hermione nodded and pushed herself to her feet, jutting her jaw a little as she focused on the task ahead. If there was one person Harry was glad to have helping him bring the others over, it was Hermione. Sure, Neville and Daphne were powerful, and Tracey had her own impressive well of power to draw from, but none of them had the single-minded focus and determination of Hermione.

As the two of them turned to face their friends across from them, he reached out and grasped her hand with his own.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” She replied, squeezing his hand and wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

With perfectly synchronised incantations, the two of them slowly levitated their friends over the abyss. Harry had a firm hold of Daphne, his magic buoying her as gently as it could. Even from here, he could feel how exhausted she was and how she was using her magic to lessen the agony she was in.

Hermione had Neville, who was squirming a little and staring at the two of them with wide eyes. When Hermione settled Neville down, he immediately scrambled away from the edge. He held Daphne above the floor and looked at her as she blinked slowly. “Do you want to stand?” Daphne nodded, and so he set her down carefully.

At the very least, she seemed to be standing by herself for now. If it got any worse again, he’d get Neville to pick her up again.

He turned to look at Tracey and cast the spell for a final time, moving her quicker than he had moved Daphne. Tracey’s legs kicked the air and she squeaked before covering her eyes. She too, scrambled from the edge as soon as she touched the floor.

He looked around at everyone and breathed a sigh of relief. “Everyone okay?”

Shaky nods and queasy smiles answered his question. He glanced up the stairs at the large double doors. Like the others, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about them, except that these seemed exceptionally large.

In the end, it took both he and Neville pushing on one door to get it to open, and even then, it barely moved enough to allow them through.

The room was somewhat similar to the previous two, in that it was a square chamber with a dozen or more stone pillars wiling the walls. In the centre was a recessed area, thankfully no chasm or maze of runes, with a trio of steps leading down into it. In the middle of the recess was a _huge_ mound of rubble, looking about the room, he couldn’t see where the rubble had come from.

“Clara!” He called again after walking some ways into the room, and like the last time, there was no answer.

Harry stepped into the centre of the room, his wand in-hand as he looked around. There was a low rumble as the rock started shifting. Neville was at his side immediately, his own wand drawn. What he thought they were going to do was utterly beyond him. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Daphne leaning against a pillar as the two girls joined them.

“ _Who disturbs my slumber_?”

The boulder began to rise as tendrils of magic began weaving themselves along the surface in intricate patterns – even outright holding pieces of rock in place at some parts. The deep crimson glow of its eyes cast long shadows around the room.

“ _Morgana’s tits_ – that’s a _bloody_ Golem!” Neville swore. All their faces were turned upwards as it stood on thick legs, towering above them. It must have been ten feet tall!

“ _Who are these I see before me_?”

“We’re Hogwarts students and we fell in here – we’re looking for a way out! Our friend is hurt!” Neville replied, pointing at Daphne at the back of the room.

“ _Intruders? The Stone must remain protected_!”

“Intruders? I just said-“ Neville began, only to be caught in the chest with a large piece of rock. Harry watched as his friend went careening through the air, bounced off of a pillar and landed in a crumpled heap.

“Run!” Harry yelled, leaping to the side as the Golem smashed a fist into the floor, cracking the tiles beneath it.

Harry leapt up the steps and cast a quick _Incendio_ over his shoulder. The small bust of flame did little to the rock, other than to blacken the grey stone, but it succeeded in pulling its attention away from Tracey, who was the last up the stairs.

He ducked and leapt behind the nearest column as a physical lance of crimson magic speared the stone. He scrambled behind the stone and pulled his knees up to his chest. He looked to his right and caught Daphne by the door pulling Neville behind another pillar.

“Is he alright?” He yelled, ducking, and covering his head as another lance of magic struck the pillar.

“I’m a little busy right now, Potter!” Tracey yelled – she had ducked behind the pillar closest to Daphne in their mad scramble, with Hermione hiding behind the pillar between the two of them. Hermione gave a terrified scream as another lance of magic struck nearby.

Harry ducked around the pillar and threw a _Diffindo_ at the Golem. Perhaps, in a century, he’d have reduced the stone guardian to a pile of pebbles. Harry ducked back, just as another lance impacted his column, destroying it and sending shrapnel in all directions.

He cried out and stumbled backward as he covered his eyes – there was a sharp pain on the side of his face where a large chunk had bounced off. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his doublet and blinked away the blood that he could feel trickling into his eye.

“He’s fine! Daphne says – _bloody Merlin_ – that he has a few broken ribs!” Tracey yelled, covering herself when her pillar was struck again.

Harry nodded and peaked around his cover. “ _Incendio_!” He yelled again, throwing the jet of flames across the chamber. Harry noticed that the Golem hadn’t moved – perhaps it couldn’t? He heard Hermione throw a _Diffindo_ of her own before the two of them ducked again.

“Tracey! Are you going to _bloody_ help?” Harry yelled, shrugging his coat off. There was little point in wearing it at this point – while it might protect him a little, there wasn’t a chance it would do anything against the lances of magic that were in the process of _shattering_ the new pillar he was behind.

“ _I’m_ _working on it_!” Tracey yelled, throwing her own spells into the fray.

Harry looked over to Hermione, who looked positively terrified behind her own pillar, with silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He understood – he felt like crying too. They had come so close to dying so many times already and this time their adversary was taking a far more _active_ role.

They knew no spells for combat. They were first year students – they were supposed to be nose-deep in the library, not duelling a Golem that was shooting literal lances of magic at them. That in of itself was interesting – there weren’t many magical applications where magic visibly manifested into a weapon.

Spells were visible, and came with their own signature, none of them appeared _solid_ – at least, not in the way the Golem’s strikes were. Was it using raw magic, or was it something else?

“Potter – what are you doing over there?” Tracey snapped, pulling him from his musing as he yanked the last sleeve off his arm. He paused for a moment as an idea struck him.

“Distract it!” He yelled, using a quick cutting charm to slice the ties that held his doublet together up his front. That too, was quickly removed, leaving him only in a sweat-stained baggy tunic, his breeches, and his boots.

“Harry, now isn’t a time to be getting undressed!” Hermione scolded, swinging around, and firing off a trio of _Diffindo_ spells while it focused on Tracey.

“I have an idea – I’m going to bring the ceiling down on it!”

“And you’re going to manage that how?”

“With my coat and Doublet!” He grinned, casting a quick _Wingardium Leviosa_ on his doublet and sent it hurtling at the Golem’s face, before sending it up in the air directly above it. As he hoped, the Golem took the bait and shot a burst of magic at the article of clothing. The magic annihilated the doublet and brought a number of large chunks of stone down, some striking the Golem and tearing large parts off of it.

He quickly glanced at the coat in his left hand and repeated the charm. Once again, he launched it first at the Golem’s face, and then into the air, though this time he waved it back and forth a little – if he were lucky, it would miss its first shot. He nearly yelled in joy as the Golem merely nicked part of it and took another shot to destroy the article of clothing.

It began slowly, but it quickly built into a crescendo of noise. Before he knew it, he was launching himself to the side to avoid the rubble that hammered down upon the stone around them. Large clouds of dust billowed into the air and he could hear the screams of Hermione and Tracey, but they seemed muted – distant, almost.

Eventually the avalanche of stone stopped, and he managed to pull himself to his knees. He looked about and hissed as the dust stung at the cut on his face. He regretted the action almost instantly as he doubled over and coughed. The taste of the dirt and stone was thick on his tongue, and he found himself spitting a mouthful of the foul stuff onto the floor.

“ _Harry_!” Hermione’s voice called out, panicked.

“Hermione!” He yelled back, looking around the chamber. He looked up at the huge pile of rubble he had created – it stretched the width of the room and reached all the way up to the ceiling. A piece of rubble moved, and Hermione’s hand stuck through, waving.

“Harry! We’re all fine, but we’re trapped – can you see any gaps on your side?”

Harry looked around as he clambered up the debris and grasped her hand. He grimaced. “I don’t see anything. How’s Neville and Daphne?” Hermione clung to his hand like a lifeline.

“They’re okay – they were the furthest away. Tracey had some rubble land on her ankle – I’ve only got a scrape or two.”

“How bad are they?”

“Honestly, Harry – there are more important things to worry about now than some silly scrapes and bruises.” Hermione sighed, and he could picture her rolling her eyes beyond the rubble.

“How’s Tracey’s ankle?” He asked, smiling as Hermione squeezed his hand a little.

“Daphne think’s it’s broken, but she’s not looking good, Harry. She’s really quite pale.”

Harry blew out a breath and looked around the room – there was nothing he could think of that could help. He dared not move any of the rubble for fear of causing more to come tumbling down. “Clara?” It was a vain hope, but it was the only thing he could really do.

Harry winced and shielded his eyes as the burst of flame erupted just in front of him. Flapping there, her dark eyes darting about, was his faithful Phoenix. Why had she been able to come now, and not sooner? His eyes looked up at the ceiling – perhaps it had something to do with the chambers they had been in? He shook his head of these thoughts – his friends needed his help, not his theories.

His feathered friend landed on a piece of large masonry to his right and nuzzled his cheek. She trilled sadly at Hermione’s hand and nipped it softly.

“Ow! Harry!”

“That wasn’t me!” He grinned, the stress of the last few minutes melting from his shoulders. He suddenly felt all the bruises and cuts he’d endured over their short adventure. “It’s Clara!” He grinned, watching as the Phoenix nuzzled Hermione’s hand.

“Clara? You managed to call her? Harry, that’s brilliant!”

“Can you get my friends to Madame Pomfrey, girl? They’re on the other side of the rubble – Daphne and Neville are hurt pretty bad.” Harry released Hermione’s hand with a final squeeze and let her have her hand back. He watched as Clara peered through the hold before disappearing and reappearing on the far side.

“Clara!” He heard Tracey moan.

“Hermione,” He called, smiling to himself as the brown-eyed girl came back into view. “When Clara takes you to Madame Pomfrey, send her to get Headmaster Dumbledore. I’ll wait in the next chamber – there’s too much dust this side.”

“Harry, you don’t know what’s through there!”

“Clean air, I would hope.” He grunted, coughing hard into the sleeve of his tunic. “I don’t know what the dust is like on your side, but it’s thick enough to cut on mine.”

“Just… Be careful, Harry!” Hermione cried, clutching his hand once more, desperately squeezing it.

“I will be – after all, I think I’ve had my fill of excitement for this year.” He grinned. He hoped he looked more confident than he felt. If this year had taught him anything, it was that trouble had a habit of finding him – or, he’d just stumble on a twelve-foot Mountain Troll and a few months later find a mirror that took a month of his life away.

“You’ll be okay Harry. You’re a great wizard – you really are.”

Harry snorted. “Not as good as you – I seem to recall a certain witch who is top of all our classes.”

Hermione snorted and even through the little gap, he could see her little smirk. “Books and cleverness. There are more important things, like friendship and bravery and – oh, do be careful.” She sniffed, squeezing his hand tightly. He imagined that she would have tackled him if she weren’t held back by the rubble.

“I promise.” He smiled, giving her hand another squeeze before he released her hand and slid down the pile as carefully as he could, wincing as jagged pieces of stone sliced his legs and back – he regretted using his coat against the Golem now.

He landed with a bit of a stumble but remained on his feet. There was the tell-tale _whoosh_ of Clara on the other side of the rubble and he knew he was alone. He made his way to the door, thankful that it was only a dozen steps away, and pushed it open.

The rush of clean air caused the dust in the air to swirl in intricate patterns, but Harry paid them little attention. He was through the door and slamming it shut before any of the dust could rush through. His lungs, which felt raw from all the dust, eagerly drank in as much clean as he could take in.

Before him lay a staircase of smooth stone steps, while the walls were rough stone. It seemed odd, in comparison with the previous chambers – there, the walls had been smooth granite, with intricate patterns. Here, the staircase was dark and devoid of patterning, it descended into the depths of wherever he was and out of his immediate sight.

He stumbled down the steps, keeping a hand against the wall all the while. Eventually, the further down he went, the more he could hear a voice – a familiar one at that. Of course, he’d completely forgotten about the warning of the stone guardians. Now he regretted coming through here – if he was trapped in here with _He Who Came Before_ , he would have preferred to have suffocated in the last chamber.

He felt the familiar tug at the back of his mind as the whispers trickled their way in. He had hoped not to feel the like of it ever again – had Dumbledore simply moved it down here? Is that what all of this was guarding? A mirror that would send you mad?

He stepped into the dark room, the cold light of the small balls of magic glinting off of the surface of the mirror and the metal that held it in place. Stood before it was none other than Professor Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“Professor Quirrell?” He asked, confused. _He Who Came Before_ was a Hogwarts professor? The stuttering man, who had jumped at his own shadow more than once.

“Ah, so the brat finally arrives.” Quirrell said, turning to look at him with a stony expression. It looked so strange, that for a moment, he could have sworn he was looking at a completely different man in a purple turban.

“But you – the stone guards…” He began, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Quirrell scoffed from his spot before the mirror. “Nothing gets past you, does it boy. I’m curious – did you come to try and stop p-p-poor, s-stuttering P-Professor Q-Q-Quirrell? Or did you simply happen to stumble in here?” The professor mocked; his eyes cold.

Harry fingered his wand in his hand. He suddenly felt a lot more terrified than he had when facing the Golem. Evidently, the professor had put on a charade for the entire year, acting as a bumbling fool – had he even fooled Dumbledore? He had certainly fooled Arcturus and Sirius when they had mentioned meeting him at his first Quidditch match.

“Or perhaps you simply got lucky – such as Halloween.” Quirrell sneered.

“You? You let the Troll in?”

“Very good Potter, yes. That Troll was supposed to buy me enough time to make my way down here, and keep the fools pre-occupied, but you saw to the end of that, didn’t you?” The professor snarled, spinning around, and looking at the mirror. “Now, come here boy.”

Harry felt a force pull him forward and into the professor’s outstretched hand. He found his feet dangling as he kicked weakly, while the professor tightened his grip around his throat. Harry tried to blink the dark spot out of his vision – he didn’t even have his wand; it had clattered to the floor as he had been yanked forward.

Harry tried to kick the professor, but he seemed neither bothered by his struggling, nor tired from holding him aloft – indeed, his arm hadn’t so much as shaken once.

“I understand you spent some time with this mirror. Tell me how it works – I can see what I desire, but I cannot grasp it!”

Harry tried to gasp, but only succeeded in breathing in the tiniest amount of air.

“I see myself holding the stone, but how do I get it?”

“Use the boy.” Another voice whispered, though to Harry it sounded as if it came from everywhere at once. Harry felt a deep, primal fear run through him and he began to struggle even more. Quirrell threw him to the floor, and he cried in pain as his knees cracked against the stone. Before he could do anything, he felt a hand grasp his hair and tilt his head back. He grimaced and glared at the man.

“Tell me, what do you see?”

Harry had no desire to look into the mirror ever again. He had no desire to become a mindless drone, going through the days with a cold detachment. He had heard how he had been in the month he had been under its thrall. He had appeared perfectly normal, though with the deep bags under his eyes that had remained for weeks afterwards. Tracey had claimed it had been as if the lights had been on, but nobody was home.

He felt the tug in his mind again. “I see… My family. My parents – a brother and a sister.”

“Useless!” Quirrell screamed, smashing his head against the cold glass. “Look again!”

This time, when he was pulled back, he could see the spiderwebbing in the glass where his head had impacted – even the small smears of blood.

“I told you, you twat, I just see my family!”

“He lies!” The voice called once more.

“Tell me the truth – what do you see?” Quirrell screamed, kneeling before Harry. Harry took that moment to spit in Quirrell’s face – the saliva striking him in the eye. He grunted as he was backhanded for his defiance. Harry landed in a head on the floor, his head ringing and stars flittering across his vision.

“Let _me_ speak to him!”

“Master, you are not strong enough!” Quirrell called into the dark room. Harry groaned and rolled over, scrambling towards his wand, which had rolled a few feet away. By the time Harry turned to point the wand back at Quirrell, the professor was facing the mirror, still as a statue and he had torn his turban from his head.

The bald scalp of Quirrell morphed and writhed, as if there were something under the skin trying to burst forth. Harry felt his stomach churn as a face took form.

“Harry _Potter_ – we meet again.”

That primal fear burned in his gut once more, and Harry’s limbs began to tremble. There was only one wizard that he would have met that could have been lain so low as to possess another being

Only one.

“Voldemort.” Harry breathed – before him stood what remained of the wizard who had waged a war against the Ministry and had been _winning_. It seemed not even death could stop him – and here he was, a boy of eleven, stuck in a chamber with him.

“Yes… Can you see what I have become? What I must do to _survive_?”

Harry did the only thing he could think to do – he turned and ran.

“Stop him!” Voldemort spat. Harry glanced over his shoulder and watched as Quirrell’s wand shot into his hand, and in a sweeping motion, flame erupted around the room, cutting off his escape. He cursed.

“Bollocks.” He swore, flicking his wand around at Quirrell – if he was stuck in a room with Voldemort, he wasn’t going to sit and wait to be butchered. “ _Diffindo_!”

Quirrell batted the spell aside with a quick flick of his wrist, while Harry leapt behind a pillar. Voldemort cackled venomously.

“ _Incendio! Diffindo! Incendio_!” Harry yelled, sending the trio of spells across the room, swinging out from behind the pillar just long enough to throw them before ducking behind it again. These pillars weren’t as thick and sturdy as the ones with the Golem, and he cursed his luck.

The pillar directly above his head exploded, the force of it knocking him forward. A second later, he felt something rip through his side and he screamed.

The mocking laughter of Voldemort was all he heard as he felt his blood trickle between his fingers. Harry groaned as he stumbled to his feet. He would die on his feet, looking him in the eye – he wouldn’t look away. He would meet his parents proudly – his only regret was that he had broken his promise to Hermione.

Quirrell raised his wand once more, the words on the tip of his tongue as Harry snapped off one last _Diffindo_.

He wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment, Harry had been looking at Quirrell, and the next there had been an incredible explosion. He had been knocked onto his back by the force of it, sliding between a pillar that had toppled over and a small raised platform. The next thing he knew, the ceiling came down all around him as the world went black.


	19. Harry XII

“-the first witch of her generation to hold a position of power in the Wizengamot, which up until then, had been restricted to-“

Harry groaned as his eyes opened slowly. He ached all over, and his head throbbed painfully. The harsh light of Madame Pomfrey’s dominion burned at his retina’s and he quickly found himself covering his eyes with his hands.

He hissed and drew his hand away from his right eye when a spike of pain startled him – the soft words he had awoken to stopped suddenly.

“Harry?”

He opened his eyes slowly this time, merely wincing as he looked upon Hermione sat at the side of his bed, her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ perched against his leg. He blinked slowly. “Hermione?”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, flinging herself at him – he grimaced as her arm caught his side. “I’m so glad you’re alright!” Harry smiled and returned the hug. He found his mood lifted, despite waking up in a hospital bed _again_.

“What happened?” He asked slowly, frowning. Hermione pulled back after a moment and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as her eyes darted about his face – he noticed her eyes lingering on his right eye for a moment. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He touched at his face for a moment, and that familiar stinging sensation returned in full force. He hissed and looked around the room for a moment. “Do you have a mirror?” He asked quietly. She nodded slowly and pulled a small mirror from her bag on the floor.

Harry took the mirror silently and brought it up before his face. He grimaced at what he saw. It wasn’t _ugly_ , but a fresh, inch-long scar ran down the side of his face. It began just above his right eyebrow and cut vertically through the hair. It stopped at the recess of his eye and continued for a bit on his cheekbone – it seemed he was lucky that it was on the outside of his eye, at least. Sirius would no doubt claim it would look rather roguish as he got older. All Harry saw was another scar people could stare at.

He sighed tiredly as he looked at it – luckily, it was quite thin, and seemed to have been a clean cut. He tried to remember what could have made it – so many things had happened, and toward the end was when things got a little fuzzy in his mind. He distinctly remembered being in pain with the Golem – had it been then?

“How are the others? Are you alright?” He asked, his eyes flicking to Hermione, who had perched herself on the side of his bed and who was kicking her legs idly.

She nodded quickly and took the mirror back when he offered it to her. “Everyone’s fine, Harry. Neville will be a little sore for a few days – most of his ribs were broken by the Golem, but he’s up and about. Tracey had her ankle fixed quickly – she didn’t even need to stay overnight. Daphne had a few potions and was good as new – Madame Pomfrey doesn’t even think it will scar.” She answered, holding his hand in hers idly as she recounted their friend’s injuries. “I just needed a single potion and I was as good as new.” She shrugged awkwardly.

“So, why am I in here?” He asked, looking around the room.

“Honestly, Harry – you had a _room_ dropped on you. Frankly, I’m amazed you only slept through a single night. I don’t even think they’ve alerted Sirius, Arcturus or Remus yet.”

“I remember now…” He whispered quietly, remembering the way that he had been looking directly at Quirrell – Voldemort – whoever he had been. He had felt different to how he had expected. He’d felt sad, but more disappointed than anything. It was odd, to be disappointed in how you were going to die.

It had felt so different from the ambush and the Troll – both times he had been utterly terrified, but he had been more terrified of _who_ he was with, rather than _what_ was happening. He had wanted to face his murderer, to look him in the eye and stand proud – like his parents would have. He wanted to meet them proudly, not as a weeping child.

While he was glad to have survived, happy, even – the memory of the experience felt hollow. Disconnected, almost.

He sighed and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “I suppose it was Headmaster Dumbledore who saved me?”

Hermione nodded and her thumb began tracing slow circles on the back of his hand. “He brought you in just after he left to find you. _Merlin_ , Harry – there was so much blood.”

“Blood?” He asked, frowning. Then he remembered it – the curse he had caught in his side. He remembered the searing, white-hot pain that had torn through him. Just thinking about it, he could hear his own scream of pain, echoing through the chamber above the roar of the flames surrounding him.

He threw the cover of his bed off on his left side and lifted his pyjama shirt. There, running diagonally up his side was an angry red scar – thin, but angry. The skin was tight and fresh – no doubt Madame Pomfrey had performed her best work on him. He looked up and saw Hermione gawking at it.

“What happened, Harry? Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t say anything.” She whispered, reaching out with a hand, while her other kept a firm hold of his own right hand, and traced the wound, barely touching the skin. He grimaced and hissed lightly as he felt the muscles stiffen beneath her touch. She glanced up and blushed a little. “Sorry.”

He tugged the shirt down and pulled the cover back over his torso. “It was Professor Quirrell.” He sighed. “But, it wasn’t _really_.”

“What do you mean?”

“Professor Quirrell was possessed by _Voldemort_.”

Hermione gasped, and jumped a little, as if she had been struck. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was slightly open. “ _You-Know-Who­_ was possessing a _professor_?” She asked, after a moment.

“All year, I would guess. It’s why he wore the turban – you could see Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head.”

“We were taught by _You-Voldemort_ for a _year_?” Hermione gasped, her eyes staring into the distance.

“I think that was more Quirrell than Voldemort, frankly. I think it took a great deal of effort to show himself to me – even then, it was more to gloat than anything. He wanted me to see that he was alive.”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you, Harry.” Hermione muttered, staring into her lap. “I’d have helped if I could.”

“You’d have only gotten yourself killed – or worse, _expelled_.” He grinned, chuckling as he saw her fight a little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “Honestly, Hermione – I’m glad none of you were there.”

“I told you that you were a great wizard though – you obviously beat him.”

He grimaced and shifted in the bed a little. “I didn’t.” He grunted, wincing as he felt her eyes dart to him. She turned to look at him fully, tucking one of her legs underneath her. “I don’t know what happened, Hermione. One moment I’m standing there, waiting for the next curse – and the next, there’s a flash of light, an explosion, and the room is coming down.”

Hermione frowned at that and the two were silent for a time – neither quite knowing what to say, it seemed. “Anyway, what was that you were reading? You did that before, after the Troll.” Harry asked, deciding to change the subject.

What he hadn’t expected was for Hermione’s face to turn scarlet as she chewed on her lip nervously. “Well, it’s my copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ – I read it to you every time you’re in here. I started after the Troll, because I thought you might like it – it’s silly, I know, but I thought-“

Harry hadn’t meant to chuckle, but he found the noise trickling past his lips regardless. Hermione’s rambling ceased as she frowned at him a little. He held his free hand up and grinned. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just – it’s the most _Hermione_ thing you could have done.” He chuckled, coughing a little as his side stung. “I really do appreciate it, however. Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand and offered her a tired smile. Hermione smiled in return and shifted a little on the bed. “So, where are the others?” He asked, looking around at all of the empty beds.

“They’re asleep, probably.” Hermione shrugged, glancing around the room. “Clara brought us in here in the middle of the night – we were down there for hours. We were all fairly exhausted.”

“How much sleep did you get?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the witch. She avoided looking at him.

“I wanted to make sure I was awake when you woke up.” She muttered, looking at an interesting spot on the covers. “I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

Harry sighed as he took in the bushy-haired witch. Over the course of the year, their friendship had blossomed, and he found himself enjoying these moments alone with her. She was always there, making sure he ate enough, and making schedules for them all to study – it was nice. Hermione had quickly become one of his dearest friends, though she drove him to madness with how she would put himself before her own needs.

“Hermione, you need to get some sleep.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and nudging her hip with his thigh.

“If you think this is the first time I’ve stayed up reading, you obviously don’t know me very well.” She sniffed, raising her nose in the air just a little. Harry chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second – but I don’t want you tired and miserable. We went through a lot. You need your rest.”

“I will – when you’re let out of here.” She smiled, squeezing his hand a little.

They were both quiet for a few moments – both content to just enjoy the company of the other, rather than fill the silence with conversation. Harry took in Hermione’s appearance – noting the fresh robes, and the way her hair was tied back into a ponytail. He also noticed that his robes were nowhere to be seen – no doubt they had been wrecked beyond repair. At least neither of them was covered in that awful _Devil’s Snare_ slime.

“Are we getting in trouble for the whole mess? Will we have detention until fifth year?” He asked after a time, cocking a brow as he smirked a little.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him – he had the distinct impression that she would have preferred to hit him for a brief moment. “No,” She sighed, “Headmaster Dumbledore has said it was beyond our control that we ended up there. No detentions – we haven’t even had points taken.”

“Thank the _Gods_ it wasn’t Snape who dug me out then.”

“ _Professor_.”

“Right, _Professor_ Snape.” Harry chuckled, rolling his own eyes.

“What is it between the two of you – you’ve been at odds ever since our first class. I’ve always wondered.” Hermione asked, frowning a little as she looked at him.

Harry grimaced and shrugged a little. “My father and he didn’t get along. Everyone tells me I look just like him, except for my eyes – they were my mothers.”

“So, he sees someone he never got along with, and as a result, you both come to blows in class?”

“That’s about the extent of it, honestly.” He replied, shrugging.

“It doesn’t seem right.” Hermione replied after a moment. He couldn’t help but agree.

Harry had known about _Professor_ Snape for years – or Snivellous, as Sirius had referred to him. He had known all about the Marauders and their rivalry with the _Potion Prodigy_ from Slytherin, which had stretched back as far as their first train-ride to Hogwarts, when his father had bumped into Snape and knocked him over by accident.

As the years had trickled by, the rivalry had escalated from harmless pranks, to down-right bullying between them. The Marauders would often target Snape, who in turn, would cast some hex or jinx at them in a corridor later on. It had rubbed Harry the wrong way – he despised bullying, in any form – and now, to be held accountable for a man that had been dead for over a decade…

“Nothing much I can do about it, honestly.” Harry sighed, shrugging a little. He would be polite and respectful, as was expected with any professor – _Merlin_ , he was likely one of the only students that treated _Filch_ with respect – but he didn’t have to _like_ the greasy bat.

“The school year has been difficult enough for you as it is – _Merlin_ knows you don’t need the added stress.” Hermione sighed, though she smirked at him a moment later. “It’s no wonder you’re so far down in the class rankings.”

“Hey now-“ He began as he sat up a little against his pillow. “I’ll have you know I’m only _second_ in the theory, but _first_ in the practical.” He smirked, earning an eye-roll from Hermione.

“Carry on, Potter, and you’ll find yourself alone in here.” She replied, playfully.

“You’d abandon me to Madame Pomfrey just like that?”

“And don’t you forget it.” She nodded, nudging him a little with a giggle. It was nice to see Hermione relax and just be herself. Too often, she was too focused on her studies – burying her nose in a book to read ahead for the next class or revising for one reason or another. He didn’t begrudge her any of that, of course, but it was nice to see the girl _behind_ the books and cleverness every now and then.

The door opened at the end of the room, and both of them turned their heads to look at the new arrival. There, standing in lilac robes with a squat cap upon his head, was the Headmaster. He smiled his grandfatherly smile and approached with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Ah Miss Granger, I thought I might find you here.” Dumbledore smiled as he came to a stop at the foot of Harry’s bed. Harry noticed the slight blush on Hermione’s cheeks and chuckled a little – she lightly pinched his arm. “May I have a moment of Mister Potter’s time? I promise to return him to you just as he is now.”

Hermione glanced at him, and he gave a slight nod and a smile – it seemed to reassure her, before she hopped off of the bed and gathered up her book. “I’ll go fetch you some clothes, Harry.”

“Excellent idea, Miss Granger – I imagine young Mister Potter here is most eager to go about his day.”

Hermione nodded, and the two of them watched as Hermione left the room, her school shoes clicking against the marble stone and bouncing around the cavernous room.

Harry turned his gaze to the Headmaster after watching his friend leave – his eyes appeared tired, and his cheeks sallow. Had the Headmaster also been awake the entire time? From where Harry sat, he looked more his age than any other time he could remember.

“Headmaster?” Harry asked after a moment, placing his hands in his lap. His body still ached somewhat, but it was a manageable pain – after all, the fact he was in pain meant that he was alive. Not something he would have _thought_ not so long ago.

“I have come to discuss what happened down in the dungeons between yourself, and Professor Quirrell. It’s all a complete secret, of course – so, naturally, the whole school knows.”

“They know, do they?” Snorted Harry as he ran a hand through his loose hair. “They know that Voldemort is still alive?”

“Ah, no – they do not. The school believes that you and your friends, thwarted Professor Quirrell when he attempted to steal something of value from the school.”

“Then that isn’t the truth.” Harry frowned. “Shouldn’t they know Voldemort was in the school, _teaching_ them?”

“I believe they should, yes. Too many are unaware of the many, many ways in which he could return. For good reason, if they did, panic and hysteria would run rampant.”

“But the Aurors-“ Harry began, only to have Dumbledore hold up his hand.

“Will be told in due-time, Harry. For now, I believe it best if as few people as possible are aware.”

Harry blew out a sigh and leaned back into the pillow behind him. What good was it knowing that Voldemort wasn’t really gone, when you could do nothing to help finish him off? He knew of possession, or at least, the concept of it – there would never be a more perfect time to catch _The Dark Lord_ than in the state he was in!

His thoughts went back to the meeting with The Council, those few years ago. He had thought Voldemort gone – never to return. It seemed it had been wishful thinking on his part. If _he_ were a megalomaniac, who had been lain low by a _baby_ – he’d be wanting revenge.

“He’s going to keep coming for me, isn’t he?”

Dumbledore wouldn’t meet his eyes and was quiet for a while. “It is difficult to say, Harry. On the one hand, you are the boy who laid him so low – on the other, I believe you to be the one person he truly fears.”

“He’s scared of… me?” Harry asked, blinking quickly as the confusion threatened to overwhelm him.

“Of course – for the last time he faced you, he was almost killed. Who does not fear death, hm?” Dumbledore nodded sagely; his hands clasped loosely in his lap as he peered over his half-moon spectacles.

“But, he had me – I couldn’t do anything against him.”

“Ah – that, I believe, I cannot answer. To try to understand the mind of the mad, is to invite madness into yourself.” Dumbledore sighed, before reaching into his robe and pulling out a short bit of wood, holding it between his finger and thumb. “This is all that remains of Professor Quirrell’s wand.”

Harry took the small bit of wand and turned it in his fingers, eyeing it carefully. He looked back up at Dumbledore and felt his forehead throb a little. “This is all that’s left of it?”

The Headmaster nodded slowly. “Indeed, Harry. Now, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

“Of course, Headmaster.” Harry answered, rolling the wood between his fingers slowly as he stared at the remnant of the wand that had nearly killed him.

“Now, I have spoken with your friends and gotten their versions of events, and now I need yours. In your own words, then, how did you find yourself on the third floor?”

Harry shrugged with one shoulder. “We were walking up the stairs, to the seventh floor and we got stranded by the staircases. We met the Occamy a little while later after we were wondering what was banging on the door.”

“I see – as for the riddle, I take it that was Miss Granger? And Mr Longbottom solved the _Devil’s Snare_?”

“Aye – Daphne was caught in the shoulder by the Occamy.” Harry nodded, remembering the pained sounds his friend had made as the girls applied the _Dittany_. Those sounds would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“And how did you get over the chasm?” Dumbledore asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

“We levitated each other over it.”

“Indeed? Quite an ingenious plan – Miss Davis, was it? I find that the simplest solutions to a problem are often the ones we overlook. I believe you brought the roof down on the Golem?”

“Yes, sir. I used my coat and doublet to get it to bring the ceiling down.”

“You continue to amaze me, Harry – there are many who would be too terrified to act in the situation you found yourselves in.” Dumbledore smiled, patting his forearm gently. Harry found himself smiling a little at the praise.

Before he could stop himself, a question that he had been turning over in his head trickled past his lips. “Why could I not call Clara until the ceiling came down?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore smiled, leaning back a little. “That, I believe, was my fault. You see, I put the mirror there as another task – one I noticed was annihilated beyond repair by your encounter with Professor Quirrell.”

Harry winced.

Dumbledore noticed, but continued on. “Those chambers were chosen specifically for one reason, Harry. The rune-work woven into the stone down there is older than this castle – it allows for no Portkey, Apparition, Floo, or even Phoenix travel to breach its walls.” The Headmaster leaned forward with a toothy grin, and a wink. “I have a theory the chambers were constructed by _Myrddin Emris_ himself.”

Harry found his jaw dropping slightly at the possibility – and then he shrank in on himself. He had completely destroyed the final room. Whatever possibility of finding out the truth of those chambers was likely significantly less now, thanks to him.

Dumbledore chuckled a little and patted his arm again. “Don’t worry my boy – I would rather have five healthy students than one old chamber.”

“I am sorry, though.” Harry grimaced, running his fingers through his hair slowly as he blew out a breath. “That chamber must have been really something before it collapsed.”

“Oh yes, it was quite the sight.” Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “But, it does well to focus on the here and now – not on what could have been, or what could be.”

The two were silent for a few moments as Harry felt the words settle on him. He knew, better than anyone, about his penchant for wondering what life would have been like – Sirius often joked that he’d leave his head in the clouds when he went flying.

“Was all of what we went through to guard the mirror? Professor Quirrell mentioned something about a stone?”

“Ah, that would be Nicholas Flemmel’s _Philosopher’s Stone_ – it was being kept safe in the castle after a number of attempted robberies in Normandy, before it was moved here.” Dumbledore nodded, slowly standing.

Nicholas Flemmel was a legend among Alchemists, and even Harry’s textbooks for the class often cited and referenced the man more than once – he was a genius!

“Alas, events spiralled out of control and the stone and mirror were both destroyed.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Headmaster – but good riddance, as far as that mirror is concerned.” He muttered, feeling his shoulders shudder at the thought of it.

“Indeed – while fascinating, it was quite the dangerous artifact. Now,” Dumbledore agreed, pausing to gently clap his hands together. “I do believe Madame Pomfrey will return shortly with your potions – I understand you have a week free to spend however you wish before the feast and your journey home.”

“Thank you, Headmaster – for rescuing me, I mean.” Harry said, watching as Dumbledore paused on his way to the door.

“It was my pleasure, my boy.” Dumbledore smiled, turning back to look at him briefly before continuing his short walk to the door.

Harry sighed as he heard the door close after the Headmaster as he sunk down into his pillow. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if Hermione got some rest before she brought him his clothes – he _was_ rather comfortable, after all.

* * *

The last week of term had passed by quickly. Harry and his friends had spent the time relaxing all throughout the castle and the grounds. It hadn’t been uncommon to find the five of them laying on one of the grassy banks that sloped lazily towards the Black Lake, where they would watch the Giant Squid playfully wave a tentacle at them every now and then.

When they couldn’t be found there, they often found themselves wandering the halls of Hogwarts, or spending time in either the Library or Great Hall for hours at a time.

Harry took the time to lavish attention on both Clara and Hedwig – both of the female birds lapped up his attention greedily. So much so, that at one point, he’d had to separate the two of them for an hour when they began to shove one another – he’d been positive that Clara had been ready to set Hedwig on fire.

It had been during this separation that he’d once again noticed that Hedwig had opted to spend time with Hermione – perhaps she had noticed that Hermione was the only one of their group without a Familiar? Neville had his toad, Daphne her Hawk, he had Clara and Hedwig, and Tracey had her Chinchilla, Kiki.

Harry always got a little nervous whenever Tracey brought Kiki out – all the birds would stare unblinkingly at the clumsy rodent, who more often than not, would stumble and fall backwards as it nibbled on a leaf of some kind.

While he knew Familiars didn’t prey on one another, it was still enough to set off his anxiety at times. Tracey, it seemed, gave no thought to it – often holding the little Chinchilla up to Clara for his Phoenix to get a better look at it, as if her black eyes had moved from it. He often imagined that if Clara had lips, she’d be licking them.

So, while they had lavished attention onto their Familiars, they took the time to enjoy the Scottish summer. While it wasn’t particularly hot, the son had shone brightly for the whole week and there had been a pleasant breeze – one the birds took full advantage of as they glided lazily on the currents.

In the days following his release from Madame Pomfrey’s care, they had all heard the whispers of ‘ _The Wolf Pack_ ’ when they meandered their way through the halls or sat together at the trestle tables of the Great Hall. At first, Harry had been confused – and then Daphne had pointed out they were referring to _them_.

He had been struck speechless – their little group had earned themselves a _nickname_? He could only imagine the bemoaning of Sirius when he discovered they hadn’t become the second coming of the _Marauders_.

Neville had snorted at their little nickname, before coming up with his own – _Vargarnir_. Harry hadn’t pretended to know what Neville was on about, and his friend had noticed. That had led to a lengthy discussion on Neville’s Norse roots, and how they were like a pack of wolves – _Vargarnir_.

While Harry appreciated the little nod to his own house with the wolf imagery, he couldn’t help but chafe at the thought that both Neville and Daphne’s houses were ignored – not to mention how Tracey and Hermione felt. He’d asked them that very question just a few days before, and they’d shrugged him off, claiming they were perfectly fine with it.

But it wasn’t fine, was it? Neville had his own prestigious house, history and sigil he was proud of, and so did Daphne. Where were the nicknames based on the Bear of House Longbottom, or the Stallion of House Greengrass. It felt wrong that they were seemingly ignored.

Daphne had told him to get his head out of his arse, and that they were perfectly fine with it – it was him, after all, who had brought them all together, with the exception of Tracey. While was flattered, of course, it hadn’t exactly made him feel any better. Instead, he’d just taken to silently pouting over it, which he found, earned him less punches in the arm from the strong-willed Slytherin.

Neville had been Neville about it, simply shrugging his shoulders and throwing his arm around his _Little Wolf_ ’s shoulders with a grin. He had rolled his eyes, looked pointedly at the three girls, and awaited their jokes. Now, thanks to the arse that was his best friend, the three girls couldn’t go a day without making a joke about it. Hermione and Daphne even giggled – _giggled_!

Harry sighed as they entered the Great Hall – the candles floated in the air, and the whole room felt warm and inviting. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were already sat at their respective tables, murmuring amongst one-another, while Slytherin filtered in with his fellow Gryffindor’s. Neville was at his side, and Hermione was a step ahead of them.

The Head Table was already full of teachers, and Harry gave a little grin to Professor Cantrill – he had been a regular visitor to her office ever since the escapade with the mirror in January. He had revelled in the stories of his mother – of how she had devoured any and all photography magazines that she could lay her hands on and kept a stack of them in her trunk each year.

There were other stories of course. He especially liked the one where she had thwarted the Marauder’s pranks, and even turned one or two around on them – at least he now had a few answers for Sirius, who to this day, remained clueless. The swell of pride he felt for his mother, for one-upping the Marauders, of all people, had buoyed him throughout the year.

The Professor gave him a smile of her own, and a little wink. The two of them had formed as much of a friendship as one could between a member of staff and a student. He found Professor Cantrill, or _Hope_ , as she insisted, to be a witty and delightful conversationalist.

He shuffled onto the bench between Neville and Hermione – Neville to his left, and Hermione on his right. All along the table, his fellow students whispered and joked with one another – there was a small pop as something from the Weasley twins exploded in a puff of smoke to raucous laughter.

He noticed Daphne and Tracey on the Slytherin table, sitting among their fellow first years. They seemed to be in some discussion with Blaise Zabini and Tomas Lyre – a Vassal of House Bulstrode, if he remembered his Noble Families. Both were quiet boys, though in the few conversations he’d had with them, both were pleasant and polite.

It took little time for the plates and dishes before them to fill, with large piles of corn-on-the-cob, sausages, slices of beef, mutton, venison, and chicken breast filled with cream cheese and wrapped in streaky bacon.

There were jugs of gravy – both meat and vegetable, thick _and_ thin. Bowls of vegetables, and sizzling skewed kebabs of meat, peppers, and onions. Harry wasted no time in helping himself to a pair of the bacon wrapped chicken breasts, a corn-on-the-cob, a spoon of broccoli, carrots and peas, parsnip, and some fresh chips. He lathered it all in a nice thick gravy, and he could feel his mouth salivating at the sight of it all.

Neville filled his plate with a pair of juicy looking steaks, with each appearing to be both halves of the cow they came from, a pile of potato, and a generous helping of green beans, carrot, and parsnip. Rather than the gravy, however, Neville opted for a strong peppercorn sauce, and for a moment Harry was glad the cow was already dead, for fear it would have drowned.

Hermione, by contrast, had put little on her plate. She had helped herself to a pair of chicken and pepper kebabs, which were still sizzling on their sticks, and a handful of vegetables. There were carrots, cauliflower, sweetcorn, and runner beans. Perhaps she was just pacing herself – she was the brains of the three of them, after all.

The meal passed quickly, with only the groans of pleasure and the clicking of cutlery on plates to fill the Hall. There had been a few times where he himself had taken a bite from his chicken and almost had his eyes roll into the back of his head – the soft cream cheese made the chicken nice and moist, while the bacon was neither too crispy, nor too soft, and complimented it all perfectly. His favourite part had been the corn-on-the-cob, however. He had spread a little butter and speared it on either side with a pair of little sticks and devoured them both.

As it was, Hermione had finished first and opted not to have another plate, while Neville barely cleaned his plate before heaping more food on. He himself was fully sated, even knowing that dessert was likely – maybe he’d treat himself to something, as a going-away gift to himself.

While he ate well throughout the year, none of their meals were like the Welcoming or Leaving Feasts, with perhaps the exceptions of Halloween, Christmas and Easter. Each meal was well balanced and nutritional, and with the exercises he performed in his room each evening, he remained fairly fit – though no doubt he would have to increase his exercise as he got older. Perhaps he could take up running, with Clara and Hedwig flying above him in the early morning. The thought of it made him smile for a moment.

“You look like Kiki, with that smile you have right now.” Hermione grinned, elbowing him playfully.

“I do _not_ look like Kiki.” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know – that far away look on your face, and the way your cheeks look a little chubby when you smile…” Hermione sighed dramatically. “You’d have made an excellent rodent.”

He felt his eyes narrow at his companion. “My cheeks aren’t chubby when I smile.”

“He’s right – those _bloody_ dimples.” Neville groused, wiping his mouth on a nearby napkin. “He’s not even a teen and he has the girls sighing as he walks past.”

“I do?” Harry asked, stunned. He found his face heating.

“ _And_ he doesn’t notice it either!” His friend sighed dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. Hermione chuckled into her goblet on his other side.

“Why are you both picking on me all of a sudden?” He groaned, rolling his eyes and elbowing both of his friends playfully.

“It’s our solemn duty as your friends.” Neville nodded resolutely as he puffed up his chest. “Otherwise, you might start to take yourself too seriously.”

“I grew up with Sirius – I doubt there’s much chance of that happening.” Harry sighed dramatically as Hermione chuckled to his right – he grinned at her.

“You mean you grew up a victim of his pranks.” Neville laughed, slapping Harry on the back.

Harry almost found himself thrown across the table from the force of it – as it was, his spine felt bruised. He’d almost forgotten how strong the Longbottom Heir was. “I happen to remember you being a victim just as often.”

“Honestly, from everything I’ve heard – it sounds like you grew up in a madhouse.” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Oh aye, you were kept on your toes – but it wasn’t too bad. We got him back a fair few times.” Harry laughed, remembering in particular the time they had swapped Sirius’s shampoo for Slytherin green hair-dye. That had been one of Daphne’s more brilliant ideas.

A gentle tapping of a glass at the head of the room drew their attention and the entire student body became silent. Above them hung the four banners representing each house, hanging lazily above their respective tables – by the end of this feast, one of those banners would by hanging proudly behind the Headmaster.

Harry watched as Dumbledore rose from his golden throne. “Another year gone! Now, as I understand it – the House Cup needs awarding, and the points stand thus…”

Harry shifted a little in his seat a little. He’d been awarded a number of points over the year, both for answering questions in class, and for scoring high in his homework – not to mention the Troll. Hopefully, his contributions would have made some sort of impact.

“In fourth place, Ravenclaw, with five-hundred-and-six points.”

All the tables clapped politely while the Ravenclaws grumbled quietly amongst one another. Harry pursed his lips as he clapped – it was never a good feeling to come last in any endeavour.

“In third place, Hufflepuff, with five-hundred-and-ninety points.”

Again, everyone in the Hall clapped, and Harry found himself glancing at Daphne and Tracey on the Slytherin table – it came down to Gryffindor and Slytherin. He narrowed his eyes at his friends as he caught their eyes – they in turn, smirked.

“In second place, Gryffindor, with six-hundred-and-three points.”

Harry cursed under his breath, and stuck his tongue out at Daphne and Tracey, both girls covering their mouths with their hands in an attempt to stifle their laughter. Now he’d have to deal with their impossible gloating for the entire train ride home in the morning – that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t have gloated if he were in their position.

“And in first place, with six-hundred-and-fifty points – Slytherin!”

The Slytherin table erupted, the students cheering and celebrating their victory, many of them banging on the table before them in glee.

“Yes, yes, well done Slytherin!” Dumbledore called out, speaking over the cheers as they died down. “However, recent events must be taken into account, and I have a few last-minute points to award.”

Harry looked around the Hall, as did almost every other student in the room. Who had earned points so late into the year that they were awarded at the ceremony?

“Firstly, to Mister Neville Longbottom, for an outstanding knowledge of Herbology that greatly surpasses the current first year curriculum, I award twenty-five points.”

Neville choked on his mouthful of drink, and Harry found himself slapping his friend on the back as the rest of their table cheered.

“Secondly, to Miss Daphne Greengrass, for an excellent demonstration of Runes, not seen in a first year for quite some time – I award, twenty-five points.”

The Slytherin table cheered as their lead remained strong, and Harry found himself clapping and laughing as Daphne blushed crimson at the sudden attention and tried to hide behind her hands.

“Next, to Miss Hermione Granger, for a cool use of intellect when others were in peril – twenty-five points.”

He cheered with the rest of Gryffindor as he threw an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and gave her a little squeeze while she gaped like a fish.

“Miss Tracey Davis, of Slytherin, I award twenty-five points for an excellent application of her _Charms_ education to conquer the most daunting of challenges.”

Tracey, it seemed, attempted to hide behind Daphne as she too blushed a deep crimson.

“And finally – to Mister Harry Potter, for the courage to face impossible odds, twenty-five points.”

Harry grinned as he was pulled into a one-armed hug by Neville and Hermione tackled him from the side – all three laughing loudly. They may not have won Gryffindor the House Cup, but the gap between themselves and Hufflepuff was larger, while the gap between themselves and Slytherin had been shortened – the loss seemed a little easier to swallow.

Harry watched as the Slytherin banner moved to hang behind Dumbledore clapped his hands. “Assuming my calculations are correct, that leaves Slytherin with seven-hundred points, and Gryffindor with six-hundred-and-seventy-eight points. Slytherin, wins the House Cup!”

Slytherin stood as one and cheered – one or two of the more exuberant students jumping onto the benches and laughing as they stomped their feet. Harry stood with them, clapping for his friends – oh, he would gripe and bemoan their gloating come the morning, but in that moment, he couldn’t have been happier for them both.

The feast ended shortly after, with everyone filtering back to their Common Rooms, under the watchful eyes of the Prefects.

Neville had his arms around both himself, and Hermione, as they walked the stairs up to the portrait of The Fat Lady. He was grinning widely and joking the entire time, how if they’d only had _one more Gryffindor_ in their little group.

“We’ll get the cup next year, Neville.” Harry chuckled, ducking out from his friend’s grip as they made it to the portrait. Already, the noise from the Common Room was almost deafening as the Twins started one of their signature parties.

For the first time that he could remember in the year, nobody was shying away from him. When they had first arrived, he was _Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived_ and whispered about in the corridors as he walked past. After Hogwarts, he had heard the whispers about killing the Troll, how it was only a matter of time until he went ‘ _Dark_ ’, as it were. With the added strangeness that had happened with the mirror, it was no surprise that students had avoided him, and to some extent, his friends.

Even Ron Weasley had kept some distance after he’d apparently blown the windows out of Gryffindor Tower on Christmas. Oh, he had remained polite and attempted to draw Harry into a conversation about Quidditch and Chess any chance he got, but there was a wariness that hadn’t been there before.

He didn’t exactly _mind_ it, if he were honest with himself. The less people he had coming to him for autographs – he’d suffered through no less than a dozen in September before the school got the hint – the better. However, he was mindful of more than just his own wishes – he had the reputation of both House Potter and House Black to maintain. Not to mention, many of the students currently attending Hogwarts would be his colleagues in the Wizengamot someday – it paid to make friends, not enemies.

Hopefully, next year would be better, and as it was, he had the entire Summer to relax and unwind from the stresses of the year. Oh, he had duties to attend to, but nothing like what the school demanded of him – not mention Woopy’s cooking!

“Here come the heroes of the day! Three fifths of _The Wolf Pack_!” One of the twins called, standing atop a table with a Butterbeer in hand – how had they gotten hold of that?

“It’s Vargarnir.” Neville muttered as Percy Weasley, the pompous Prefect who – in Harry’s opinion – thought a little too much of himself, brushed past them. The fifth year paid them no mind at all as he moved to pull the twins from the table.

“The _what_?” Dean asked, stepping up to their side and clapping Harry on the shoulder. Seamus was right behind him, grinning at the three of them – Harry noticed Hermione had finally extricated herself from Neville and cocked his brow at her, earning himself a gentle jab in his ribs and a roll of her eyes.

Neville sighed as he turned to face Dean. “Var-gar-neer, it means ‘ _The Wolves_ ’.”

“So, ye’s ‘ _The Wolves_ ’?” Seamus asked, frowning a little.

“That’s about the extent of it.” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Remus will be over the moon.” He snickered, earning a jab in his arm from Neville. He winced and rubbed it a little, but the chuckles didn’t stop.

“Who’s Remus? You’ve mentioned him a few times this year.” Dean asked, looking at Harry as his cat, Bishop, ran up his leg and curled herself around his shoulders. Harry reached out and scratched the playful feline between the ears gently – he had sent both Hedwig and Clara back to Blackwall just before the feast.

“He’s the Steward for House Black. He, Sirius and my father were best friends while they were at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, and he likes wolves?” Seamus asked, perching himself on a nearby table. Harry noticed that, for the first time in a long time, the boy _had_ eyebrows.

“Yeah, he likes wolves.” Neville smirked. “Bit obsessed, actually.”

“Sirius is going to be impossible; you know.”

“Oh aye – he was hoping for ‘ _The Mini-Marauders_ ’.” Neville chuckled, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the back of a nearby sofa.

“I’m going to get us drinks – who wants one? Harry? Neville?” Hermione asked after a moment.

“I’ll help you.” Harry smiled, noting Neville’s raised hand, as well as Dean and Seamus’s.

The two of them set off into the crowd of Gryffindors, and weaved their way to the table that had been filled with countless bottles of Butterbeer, mead, juice and water – the glass was lightly frosted as the cooling charm that had been applied to them did its work.

Harry scooped up three bottles of juice, while Hermione pilfered two of her own, and they set off back to the small group of boys.

“I’m telling you – it _glowed_!” Neville sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before Harry passed him a bottle. He also handed Dean and Seamus one each and smiled as Hermione passed him his own. They all grinned and clinked their bottles together before taking a long pull.

As they all let out content sighs, with Seamus smacking his lips as he eyed the bottle, Harry didn’t think it could get much better than this. Surrounded by friends, laughing and having a good time. It was a shame it would all end in the morning.

* * *

Harry groaned as he dropped into the carriage seat and closed the sliding door behind him. It was his own damn fault – Hermione, Daphne and Tracey had made sure to point that one out enough in the trip down to Hogsmeade.

He had stayed up far too late, laughing and joking with his fellow Gryffindors – Neville had entertained them all with stories of how he would have fought the giant Golem that had tossed him through the air, Seamus helping him re-enact the battle.

Hermione had slipped off to bed at ten and had even warned them about the time they had to be ready to leave for. While Harry was normally an early riser, the fact he had gone to sleep at two had meant he had fought tooth and nail to remain in bed before Neville had threatened to call on Hermione.

Harry had panicked in his sleep deprived state and fallen out of the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Neville had been Neville about it and had retreated from his room, laughing the whole way. Harry swore at his friend and threw one of his pillows after him.

He had showered and dressed reluctantly, and had attempted to curl in on himself on the carriage-ride down to the train – something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his three other friends as they pointed out the irresponsibility of having stayed up half the night. As if he hadn’t been regretting it since Neville burst into his room.

He groaned and shifted a little – there wasn’t nearly as much room on the return trip to London as there had been on the trip to Hogwarts, with the inclusion of both Hermione and Tracey. A small mercy, at least, had been the three girls sat on the far bench, Tracey and Daphne on either side of Hermione. Harry and Neville stretched out on the bench opposite the three girls.

“So,” Tracey began, her voice far too cheerful for Harry’s liking. “What’s everyone’s plans for the Summer?”

“Wizengamot.” Daphne and Neville said together, with Harry’s mumbled addition trailing a moment later.

Hermione and Tracey looked between one-another and blinked. “But, what are you going to do for _fun_?” Tracey asked after a moment.

“Sleep.” Harry muttered under his breath, shifting himself a little more – when had these benches become so _bloody_ hard?

Daphne snorted, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re adorable when you’re sleep deprived, Potter.” The raven-haired Slytherin chuckled as she crossed her legs. For once, none of them were in their school uniform, or other such formal attire. Each of them had opted to wear simple, comfortable clothing.

Harry had thrown a simple doublet on, with his usual trousers and boots, much like Neville had chosen to wear. Hermione and Tracey both wore Muggle clothing – Tracey in a summer dress with polka dots, and Hermione in denim jeans and a t-shirt. Daphne, ever the Highborn Heiress, looked nothing less than the dark-haired beauty he was sure she would grow into, with her thick hair curled and tied back in an intricate up-do with ringlets framing her face, and a black ankle-length dress that seemed to flow as she walked.

He’d cuffed Dean, Seamus _and_ Ron over the back of their heads for staring.

“Eat shit, Greengrass.” He grunted, pulling his cloak a little more over him as he tried to burrow his way into the corner between the window and the bench. Neville chuckled on the other side, and Harry found himself kicking Neville’s boot before he could stop himself.

“Is he always this moody when he’s tired?” Tracey asked, smirking at him from her side of the cabin.

“Yes.” Neville and Daphne agreed instantly, grinning at one another.

“Could’ve hesitated for a bloody moment, at least.” He griped sulkily.

“Would you watch your language, Harry – it’s terribly uncouth.” Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she flipped through a book. The train jolted for a moment before the station began rolling by slowly.

“This is it. Our first year is over.” Neville muttered, watching the trees pass by as they sped up.

“It’s gone by ever so quickly.” Hermione sighed. “At least we’ll write to one another over the Summer.”

“Some more than others.” Daphne agreed, giving a pointed look to Neville.

“Hey, I write!” Neville grouched, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Harry fought the urge to smirk – it was good not being the target of Daphne’s barbs.

“Oh aye, but it’s always about plants. How is a girl supposed to feel special?” Daphne moaned dramatically, leaning into Hermione for support, causing the girls to giggle. Neville just blinked, confused.

“She’s playing with your head, Neville.” Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes as he watched Neville’s mouth open and close a few times.

“ _Girls_.” Neville sighed, causing the girls to break into their laughter once more.

“So, Neville – any plans?” Tracey asked once the laughter had died down.

“Oh aye – I’ll be looking after-“

“-the greenhouses.” Harry and Daphne finished for him as one.

“Well, there was no need for that, frankly.” Neville huffed. “Honestly, you’d think you’d have all developed a new appreciation for plants after that last adventure.”

“Yeah, we know not to go near them.” Tracey muttered, causing the room to echo with their chuckles – even Harry found himself joining them.

“Aside from that, I suppose, there’s the Wizengamot – the three of us are old enough to attend the sessions now. Maybe visit Blackwall?” Neville said – more of a question than a statement, honestly. Harry nodded and chuckled at Neville’s grin.

“Don’t forget the wedding.” Daphne added.

“Wedding?” Hermione asked, cocking her head a little as she looked up from her book.

“Sirius Black’s wedding to Amelia Bones – wedding of the decade, apparently.” Daphne snorted. “A little early to call it that, if you ask me.”

“Why do they say that?” Tracey asked, frowning.

“Well, Amelia Bones is the head of the D.M.L.E – the department that attempted to send Sirius to Azkaban a few years back. Though, that was a different head at the time.” Harry answered with a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes. He’d forgotten about the bloody wedding – not that he wasn’t excited, of course. He’d just forgotten how political it was going to get.

“I sent Hedwig off with a message last week asking Sirius to invite you both.” He added, looking at both Hermione and Tracey. “These two will be coming because they’re political allies – the parasites.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and reached over to slap him on the arm, while Neville kicked his boot. “We both know you’d miss us, Potter. Besides, I expect a dance.” Daphne sniffed, settling back into her seat.

“There’s dancing?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

“Only if you want to.” Neville smiled. “It’s expected of us – Harry and I are the last of our Houses, so we have to make nice with the heirs and the like. You could dance, or you could sit and read – it’s entirely up to you.”

“At least you won’t have to deal with the wastrels twice your age waiting for you to come of age.” Daphne sneered, looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” Tracey asked as she leaned across Hermione a little.

“Daphne is the heir to House Greengrass – it’s a powerful family with allies on both sides of most political debates. No doubt they think they could control our resident Morgana.” Harry replied, sitting up a little as his back began to ache.

“Why Harry, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.” Daphne sighed, batting her eyelashes at him, causing him to snort and roll his eyes a little.

“I wouldn’t get used to it – you’re still a pain in my arse.”

“I knew he couldn’t keep it going.” Neville chuckled, wincing as Harry kicked his boot again. “Alright, I’ll shut my mouth.”

“ _Gods_ , that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” Tracey grinned. Neville, ever the mature one of the group – stuck his tongue out at her. “What about you, Harry?”

“What about me?”

“Any plans in the Summer that aren’t Wizengamot and wedding related?” Tracey asked, smiling a little.

“I’m going away for a few weeks – looking over my lands and that sort of thing. I’ll try to write, but I can’t promise it’ll be regular. You’re all invited to Blackwall at some point, in case the two of you were wondering?” Harry added, looking between Hermione and Tracey. “By personal invitation of Lord Arcturus Black himself.” Harry grinned.

“I’d accept it for that alone – he doesn’t invite many to Blackwall. You must have impressed him.” Daphne nodded, looking at the two girls.

Hermione flushed red and Tracey gaped like a fish. “I take it, that’s difficult to do?” Hermione asked nervously. “He seemed rather easy-going when we met him.”

“Arcturus has a certain reputation – one that’s well earned, I’d add. He likes to act the intimidating Lord, but he’s just as bad as Sirius at times.” Neville chuckled.

“Drives Remus up the wall, I bet.” Daphne nodded.

“You make it sound like I’m from a mad-house.” Harry muttered. “He’s always been stern, but fair – though he _does_ enjoy turning Sirius’s pranks around on him. I know he expects a lot from me, but he makes sure I’m happy and well looked after – I’d have him no other way.”

The rest of the train ride passed quickly, and Harry even managed to catch an hour-long nap before he was shaken awake by his friends as they pulled into their destination. Harry yawned and pulled his cloak from his body and got to his feet, stretching a little. Daphne and Tracey were already out the door and standing in the corridor with their trunks.

Hermione was on her toes, trying to shimmy her luggage over the rail that kept it in place, and had her brow furrowed and tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as a result. Harry gave a quiet chuckle before stepping around her and lifting it down. A quickly murmured thank you, and she was waiting with Daphne and Tracey.

Neville was next, lifting his trunk down easily, and even going so far as to hand Harry his own as he threw his cloak over a shoulder rather than put it on. There’d be no need for it – they’d be Floo’ing back to Blackwall.

The train came to a stop, and they waited by the doors. A moment later, there was a sharp whistle and the doors swung open. The air of the platform assaulted his nose first – it smelt of steam and bodies. The platform was packed with parents and guardians, all awaiting their children – he even spotted the occasional Muggle interspersed with the crowd.

He eyed the familiar black curls on the right-hand side with a grin – spotting a number of other adults that he recognised nearby. There was Augusta Longbottom, in her signature hat, Remus and Arcturus, both grinning at the sight of him – even Castor Greengrass and his wife, Thalia.

Harry waved as Tracey peeled off for a moment to catch up with her own parents, and Hermione had practically taken off at a sprint to her own parents – a friendly-looking couple not far from his own small group.

He dropped his trunk at his feet and threw his arms around Sirius, grinning all the while – moments later, he could feel Arcturus and Remus both wrapping their own arms around him as they all laughed.

“It’s good to have you back, pup.” Sirius whispered into his hair.

“It’s good to be back – I missed you all.”

“Oh, just you wait until we get back and you see what Lispy’s been up to.” Remus chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“Oh, what’s she gone and done?” He chuckled, pulling back for a moment, and eyeing the adults around him.

“Oh, just a bit of this, and a bit of that.” Arcturus shrugged with a wink. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called, causing him to turn his head. He smiled as he saw her rushing over to him, her hair bouncing with each step. “I want you to meet my parents!” She grinned, almost bouncing on the spot. A moment later she was joined by two pleasant looking adults, clearly her parents from the family resemblance.

He held his hand out to her father first – the older man smiling at him kindly as they shook hands. “Mister Granger, a pleasure – I’ve heard a lot about you from Hermione.”

“All good, I hope? And please – call me John.”

“Only the best, I’m afraid.” Harry grinned, and he saw Hermione roll her eyes with a smile. He turned his attention to Hermione’s mother next – her brown eyes almost identical to Hermione’s own.

“Missus Granger, a pleasure.” He smiled, bowing, and politely brushing his lips against her knuckles as he was taught.

“My, a real charmer.” Hermione’s mother chuckled, elbowing John in the side playfully. “And please, Harry – call me Jean.”

“Did someone mention a charmer?” Sirius asked, grinning, and winking at Harry. Harry looked nervously at Hermione – he knew the beginnings of a Sirius Prank when he saw one. Hermione returned his look as she worried at her bottom lip, she looked just as nervous as he felt. “Sirius Black, how do you do?”


	20. Sirius II

The gavel of Albus Dumbledore echoed around the chamber with a trio of loud bangs, silencing the cacophony of voices that had been filling the chambers.

It seemed that The Wizengamot would be total chaos for the entire session – with one wizard or witch clamouring to be heard over another even more than usual. Already, he could feel the beginning of a headache forming just behind his eyes – damn Arcturus for saddling him with today’s session.

It was July the second, and Harry had been home from Hogwarts for two days, and already things were in turmoil. He, Arcturus, and Remus had noticed the new scar on Harry’s face immediately and it hadn’t taken the pup long to reveal the scar on his side either.

While Sirius felt rather proud that he’d managed to keep his questions about his facial scar until they made it back to Blackwall, he was rather less proud of his reaction to Harry’s scar on his side. Gone was the smooth skin of the innocent child he had raised for a decade – in its place sat a scar that travelled diagonally from Harry’s back, all the way up to his ribs on his left side.

The questions had begun in earnest after that – it was far too clean of a cut for it to have been anything but a spell. What Harry had told them of the end of his year had left them all stunned, and not a little furious.

Remus had quietly stewed in his rage, his eyes taking on flecks of gold, even though the full moon had passed some time ago, as the wolf inside his best friend railed against its cage, demanding to be set loose.

Sirius had immediately set off towards the Floo, a handful of powder already in his fist when Harry had stepped between himself and his destination with a hand to his chest. He had been furious, baying for blood and wanting to know _why_ Dumbledore saw fit not to alert him to his _son’s_ injuries – _Merlin_ , the boy had a ceiling dropped on him!

Eventually, he had calmed and had been left to stew in his anger in the meantime – as it was, he had sat silently the entire Wizengamot session and glared at the Chief Warlock, who appeared to be far too busy for him to have noticed.

Although, if Sirius claimed he had been furious, Arcturus had been apocalyptic in his rage. The patriarch of the Black Family had exploded in a way he had only witnessed once – at his trial all those years ago. The Wards of Blackwall had sprung up around the man as his magic flared wildly and lashed out.

It had been quite the sight, to see the man suddenly surrounded by a shimmering white barrier as lances of red magic – pure, physical manifestations of his power, arced through the air as he stood there, trembling silently. It had taken some time for Arcturus to calm, and when he did, he had Apparated from the room with such a resounding boom that the windows shattered instantly.

While Sirius had no true idea of just _where_ Arcturus had gone, he could take an educated guess. It hadn’t taken a man of great intellect to deduce that Hogwarts was about to be besieged by one of the most powerful, and angriest wizards in Britain.

He couldn’t help the small smile that onto his face as he imagined the way Arcturus would have torn into the old man – how he would have brutally criticised the Headmaster, powerful as he was in his own right, for placing items of such power and importance, in a school full of _children_. The very thought of it made his blood boil all over again.

He took a moment to sweep his gaze up to the viewing gallery opposite him, where he knew Harry was sat with the other heirs – no doubt he was attempting to remember as much as he could, Arcturus would no doubt quiz the boy after they returned to Blackwall.

Harry was everything Sirius had ever hoped he would be. He was such a good boy – more Lily than James, though his resemblance to his father almost hurt sometimes. He was kind, and intelligent and so, so brave. To have heard of the trials he had faced only a week ago – knowing full well that there were many adult wizards and witches that would have crumbled. He was so proud.

As it was, the morning had been tense, the family – minus Harry, were still on edge from the stories he had come home with. That didn’t mean that Harry didn’t also have questions of his own – particularly about the summons from Trevelyan at the beginning of the year.

He had a certain amount of respect for Harry, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to ask what he wanted via Hedwig or any other owl – even using Clara would have been out of the question. The day the proud Phoenix agreed to carry a letter, would be the day Sirius ate his boots.

In the silences between their raging, Harry had rapid-fired his questions at the two Blacks, asking what it was Trevelyan had wanted. He knew Arcturus had given him _some_ information when they had returned, but nothing would have been enough for his boy.

The latest explosion of tempers had been caused when Harry mentioned his cloak – _the_ cloak. He had even shown it to he and Remus when they had scoffed at such a relic of their history having survived the catastrophe of Godric’s Hollow all those years ago. For surely, James would have had it with him – he never went _anywhere_ without it.

Arcturus had been confused by the whole thing, not quite understanding the significance of the cloak from Sirius and Remus’s childhoods, but there it had been, laid out before their eyes – the silky material shimmering before their eyes in the early morning light.

Sirius had felt the cold fury grip his heart, and his hands had trembled with their want to smash something – _anything_. As it was, he had remained calm, or as close to such a state as he could manage and had simply asked where he had found it. After all, perhaps James had stashed it away at Hogwarts – as unlikely as that was.

That _name_ had re-appeared, and Sirius found himself loathing its very existence with increasing severity every time he heard it.

 _Dumbledore_.

The old goat had held on to the _Cloak_ for over a _decade_?

And that was what had inevitably saddled him with the sole responsibility of the Wizengamot this month. Usually, Arcturus would sit in the Black chair, while Sirius, as Regent, would assume the Potter chair on behalf of Harry. Today, however, he was sitting for both houses, and the old goat was sitting in the same chamber and he could do _nothing_.

He had learned his lesson all those years ago when he had gone chasing after Peter. He tried not to be as rash, and to rein his temper under control when it threatened to get out of control. He was not that same, hot headed young man he had been at the close of the war. No, now he was as much a student of Arcturus Black as he was a student of Hogwarts.

The things he had learned under his grandfather’s guiding hand were incalculable. He had studied the Black Grimoire for years, as it was _his_ duty to look after the Family Magic once Arcturus passed on, and it would be his duty to pass it down to his own children. Harry, while Sirius would always consider him his first son, would never be able to take on the Black name, or learn the spells they safeguarded. Harry’s magic, and their own, would never allow it – Harry was a Potter, the _last_ Potter, and he was now their Liege Lord.

That had been quite the head-scratcher for the three adults in their little family in the months since the summons. They had made no secret of having sworn fealty, and frankly, Sirius was still surprised that Arcturus had gone along with it when he had suggested it as a wonderful prank.

He’d had no idea of the potential consequences of the whole thing – though more importantly, why had it only caused an issue _now_ and not then? Something wasn’t adding up, but for the life of him, he just couldn’t place his finger on it.

They had been kept under guard, as had all of the other Lords and Ladies, when they were at the Citadel – oh, they were free to enter the city and go where they pleased, but they were always accompanied by Trevelyan’s men. There had been one man that Sirius had noticed above all others in their time, and he had shadowed Trevelyan like a loyal hound.

He was a behemoth, but he moved with such fluidity and grace that Sirius had been half convinced his size had been a simple trick of the light. His armour had been dark, but the Griffon of House Trevelyan had been emblazoned on the front of it proudly, and the usual pieces of armour – the shoulder guards, the arm, hand, leg and foot armour all had vicious looking spikes that, unlike the standard armour he had seen across their own guards, Harry’s and the Capitol’s, looked _used_.

He’d never gotten the chance to speak to the man, whose eyes had been trained on himself and Arcturus more than any other, and for the first time in his life, Sirius was _glad_.

Their time had been taken by assessing the opinions of the other lords and ladies called to the council. Unfortunately. They had managed to sway a number of families to their defence over the course of the month, and if it hadn’t been for the Lord Minks and the Lady Serrett, no doubt they would both be a head shorter. He shuddered a little – the less Harry knew about just _how close_ it had been, the better.

He had been angry upon their return, of course, and had spent all of his free time with his betrothed and far away from politics. His relationship with Amelia had been rekindled from their time at Hogwarts. Of all the women that had appeared in his life over the years, it had been Amelia that had stolen his heart.

For a time, shortly following the war, he had refused any knowledge of her – after all, she was a part of the team of Aurors that had apprehended him – who _wouldn’t_ have felt betrayed? Being older, and somewhat wiser, he understood the position she had been in, and Amelia was nothing if not dedicated to her job.

It had been what had first attracted him to the girl in fifth year at Hogwarts. At first, she had been a conquest – corrupt the Hufflepuff with such dedication and sense of fairness, the rest of her House paled in comparison. He _just_ couldn’t stay away.

What had begun as simple, harmless flirting, had turned into him thinking about the blonde girl at all hours. They were in potions? How could Amelia use a potion to apprehend someone? Care of Magical Creatures? Amelia would _love_ a Hippogriff – their judge of character was phenomenal. Transfiguration? Would Amelia appreciate flowers?

The Marauders had teased him mercilessly, of course – and he expected nothing less – but he didn’t care. He’d trip over himself to say hello as she passed him in the halls, or stumble over his words when he’d ask her to Hogsmeade. He’d given James shit for years about how he fawned over Lily, but in those moments, he understood _completely_.

All these years later, and even a betrothal contract between the two of them, he hadn’t been able to avoid making a fool of himself when they had met once again. He’d caught the briefest of glimpses of her in his years of attending the Wizengamot, but never long enough to appreciate what a beautiful woman she had grown into.

It had been awkward in the beginning once Harry had left for Hogwarts. Where did one begin to pick-up the pieces of a broken relationship after over a decade of silence? He had tried the charm, though that had failed him as spectacularly as it had in Hogwarts – Amelia had been the one woman he had ever met that was immune. So, he had done the only sensible thing he could think of.

He had waited outside her office with a bouquet of flowers – just like he had when they were in Hogwarts. She had stepped from her office, dressed in her grey pencil-skirt suit, with her blonde hair tied back into a neat bun at the back of her head, taken one glance at Sirius and burst into gales of laughter.

It had been the best thing he had heard in years – besides Harry, of course. Amelia laughing was such a rare experience, he savoured every opportunity to hear it. The dimples in her cheeks, and the way she would bite her tongue a little – even the way her eyes would crinkle in the corners a little as her shoulders shook. He’d been just as lost as he had been all those years ago.

While it hadn’t repaired their relationship to what it had been, it was enough to know he had made progress. They had dined together in restaurants in both England and France’s countless magical districts, walked along the Riviera and the Thames, and fallen asleep on one another before roaring fires. Slowly but surely, Amelia Bones began to feel like home – he’d prayed to all the Gods in The Pantheon that Harry and Amelia would like one another. There was nothing more important to him.

He’d had it all planned out – Christmas and the New Year, with both families at Blackwall. Amelia would bring Susan, who, in turn, would meet Neville and Daphne when they visited, and they could get to know one another as _family_.

Then, the Viscount had summoned them to the Capital.

Upon their return, he had gone straight to and fallen into bed with Amelia, relishing in her gentle kisses, and the feel of the smooth skin of her thighs as his calloused fingers drifted over them lightly. He spent more time at the Bones Estate in the month following their return, than he did at Blackwall. There had been something about being so close to catastrophe that had snapped his world into focus.

He knew what he wanted, for himself _and_ for Harry, and he would let nothing stand in its way. He cared for Amelia deeply – loved her, even – and had done for years. She was his balance, kept him grounded. He wanted to wake up each morning to the sight of Amelia’s bare shoulders, and the leg that draped itself over the quilt. He wanted to make her laugh and be the cause of that laughter for years to come. _Merlin_ , he wanted to build a _family_ with her.

He’d kept it to himself, because he’d be damned if he ever let Remus get _that_ on him – Steward and best friend he may be, but they were still Marauders at heart – but he liked to think Amelia knew him well enough that she _knew_.

It wouldn’t be long – only a little over a month until she would become a permanent fixture in his life. Just over a month until he could wake up next to her each morning, and sit with Harry, Remus, and Arcturus at the table before they started their days.

He had thought he would be nervous or apprehensive about the wedding, but he found himself excited at the thought of it. While he had been prepared to leave the planning to Amelia, for they could have as small or as large a ceremony as she wished as far he were concerned, he had found himself in equal discussion with her. They would lay in bed together at night, thinking who they wished to invite, or discussing the colour themes.

There were those they had no choice but to invite – they didn’t have the benefit of social anonymity, she was the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while he was the Heir Black. No doubt many Lords and Ladies of Noble Houses would be in attendance, some friends and political allies, while others would be their political rivals and adversaries. He hated the idea of having to play nice with the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his cousin Narcissa.

It had been no bother to him in the slightest when he’d received the letter from Harry, asking if his friends and their families could attend. He had met John and Jean Granger at the Platform when their children had returned from school, and they seemed like delightful people – he had expected nothing less, of course. Hermione had thoroughly impressed him when they had first met on Halloween – she had been just as adamant about remaining with Harry as Sirius had been.

That kind of loyalty and friendship was hard to find – indeed, Sirius could only count two people, besides Harry, that he would have been as stubborn about; Remus and James – though, chances were, he’d have been in the next bed along from them.

John and Jean Granger had been a lovely couple, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to make both Harry and Hermione visibly nervous. He had seen how close the two of them had grown over the year, and only hoped that friendship continued to grow – it was a rare thing to find a friend for life. Oh, Harry had Neville and Daphne, but through Hermione, Harry had a connection to the world of his mother – something that Sirius just couldn’t give him.

Remus had some experience navigating it, but he didn’t _understand_ it in the same way a Muggle or Muggle-born would. Harry had been raised among Purebloods and the old families – he had grown up with magic. How could he relate to his fellow witch or wizard at Hogwarts who was still new to the idea? Lily had shown them all that there was more to life than _magic_ and _Hogwarts_ – there was an entire world out there, waiting for them to explore it.

Sirius rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger as he fought off the throbbing in his skull, the pressure behind his eyes pulsing with each beat of his heart. If he could make it through this session, then he could return to Blackwall with Harry and relax for a week before they left for Rosestone, and then Arpton Keep.

“Order, I _will_ have order!” Dumbledore called, looking around the room of witches and wizards. After a moment he turned his head to the far side of the chamber and gestured to an elderly man who was hunched over at the waist. “Lord Dondarrion, please continue.”

The man nodded shakily, though it appeared more from age than nerves. Sirius knew Lord Dondarrion – he was an extraordinarily conservative man in his thirteenth decade. While he had no Lord to answer to, none of the Peverell Vassals did for that matter, his political agenda was his own.

That had always confused Sirius. The Peverell family was one that was as powerful as his own, slightly older too, but the line was extinct with the death of Lord Stefanos Peverell three hundred years ago. Oddly, the Ministry had never attempted to divide up the lands and Vassals among the other families, as was the custom.

Instead, they had remained under their own power and had become a small political alliance and powerhouse in their own right – for it was their votes that many bills came down to.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock.” Dondarrion replied with a wheeze before turning to the rest of the assembled Wizengamot. “My Lords, Ladies – it has come to my humble attention that there is a matter in the ratifications we discussed last month on the qualification of Wand Cores that I feel, and my honourable colleagues do as well, merits more discussion.”

“And what would that be, Lord Dondarrion?” Lord Elks called from his chair by the bottom level of the chamber.

“What _exactly_ constitutes a magical core element, my Lord.” Lord Dondarrion replied without hesitation. “Should we expect our future cores to be made from _anything_ that can conduct magic, or, as is my opinion, should we regulate the materials. Why, I shudder to think of an upstanding member of this body being forced to use a _Werewolf_ hair for their core!”

The chamber erupted again, and Sirius found himself pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed. His eyes flickered up to the balcony that Harry sat at, and saw the pup standing and leaning against the railing with a thunderous look on his face.

He understood that feeling quite well – however, he was loathed to admit, he had become desensitised to the racial bigotry of the Wizengamot. He knew the Purebloods considered those _not wholly human_ as second, or even third-class citizens – Moony’s challenges over the years had been a constant reminder.

“Are you suggesting, Lord Dondarrion, that we _limit_ the range of Wand Cores available to our society?” asked Dumbledore as he leaned forward in his chair.

“I am, Chief Warlock – why, in my years at Hogwarts, it was only proper for boys and girls to have a wand made of Dragon Heartstring or Unicorn Hair.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Lord Dondarrion, but your years at Hogwarts have well and truly passed.” Lady Wolpers scoffed, a Vassal for House Prince.

The room broke out into a smattering of laughter and calls for the woman to keep her mouth shut. Sirius was of a similar opinion to Lady Wolpers – in their history, it was true that there were fewer foci materials used in wand creation, but that had been a result of redundant attitudes and business strategies.

In the century since Lord Dondarrion was born, there had been _huge_ advances in the harvesting processes of wand materials – and even what could be _used_ as a material. It had been commonly believed that only a handful of materials would be capable – now, the possibilities were limited only in the number of magical species left in the world.

Too many species had been harvested for their usefulness – entire species wiped from the Earth, never to return. Some had been saved through sheer luck in the timing of the advancements in knowledge – such as the Dragon. How many had been slaughtered over the years for their heartstrings? How many Unicorn had been robbed of their horns? How many Thestral were plucked bare of their hair?

“Order!” Dumbledore called as he banged his gavel again.

“I won’t have my children, or my children’s children forced to have a _Lycan hair_ for their wands!” Someone called from the many rows.

“And you shouldn’t have to!” Dondarrion called back, looking around at the assembled Lords and Ladies and the several Ministry Officials that made up the room. “We are powerful if we remain true to the ideals our society was founded upon!”

“I’m not sure if you know this or not, Lord Dondarrion,” Thomas Weasley called as he stood. “But Muggles are no longer the simpletons they used to be! They have explored the world, invented machines and are far more numerous than ever before! The ideals our society was founded upon are antique and not applicable for the world we live in!”

There was a smattering of applause and agreement from those around the Weasley Patriarch – most vocally from his Vassal Lords, Grouse, Squabs and Mistle.

Lord Tarner stood, a Vassal of House Graves – his dark robes contrasting with his pale skin to make him appear almost ghoul-like. “Would the honourable Lord Weasley please explain as to how the advancement of Muggles is related to the regulation of Wand Cores? I move to have his comments stricken from the record, Chief Warlock.”

A chorus of ayes accompanied Tarner’s words as he resumed his seat, but not before Sirius saw him lean over to a fellow Vassal of House Graves and whisper something into their ear – Lady Daxer if his memory served.

“Chief Warlock,” Weasley replied as he stood once again. “I would remind Lord Tarner that my words were in response to Lord Dondarrion’s claim that the principles our society was founded on would still be relevant in this day and age – my comments about Muggle advancement were merely an example as to how they are no longer applicable.”

“Blood Traitor!” Someone called into the following silence, causing another minute or two of incessant shouting among the Lords and Ladies of the room. He sighed and rubbed at his temples.

“Order! Order!” Dumbledore called over the din. Once the room was silent once more, the old man looked over at Weasley. “I’m afraid that, due to the contentious nature of your statements and the resulting pandemonium, I am forced to strike your comments from the record, as well as the insult that followed. I do this in accordance with article seven-hundred-and-sixty-three.”

“As the Chief Warlock has declared, so it shall be – Scribe, strike the appropriate recording from the page!” Minister Fudge called, the pomposity in his tone matched only by the hideous green bowler hat he insisted on wearing.

Cornelius Fudge was no Millicent Bagnold – something which Sirius was eternally grateful for – the man was as corrupt as one could find. Oh, he may have once been an impressive Prosecutor for the Courts in the late Seventies and early Eighties, but that man had been swallowed whole by the man who now sat at the head of the British Ministry. It was a poorly kept secret among the Lords and Ladies that Minister Fudge’s loyalty was available to the highest bidder.

Sirius disliked the man, though he couldn’t say how much of that dislike stemmed from his Animagus form – canines were, after all, excellent judges of character. Fudge was an overweight, little man with a weak chin and a weaker disposition.

How he had been elected to Minister was beyond his comprehension.

If his position was not entirely solidified, the man floundered and blustered until he got his way. It was a poorly kept secret among the Ministry, that those who were unfortunate enough to deliver unwelcome news, often found themselves in need of a new job – it had become the most common way to fire an employee.

He was a weak man, led around by his subordinates and his sycophants. Sirius narrowed his eyes as the Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge – a disgusting toad of a woman – sat in the chair just below the Minister. He knew of Umbridge, of course – she was a Pureblood bigot, whose opinions on those of ‘ _lesser_ _purity’_ were disgustingly medieval.

On no less than a dozen counts, had the woman in the pink cardigan attempted to introduce control measures for those not human. She would incite another Goblin Rebellion, pen the Centaurs into paddocks and euthanise Werewolves and Veela – it was no coincidence that many Lycanthropes and Veela moved to the continent, where the views and opinions on both were far more tolerable.

Sirius let out a sigh as he watched the Scribe swipe their quill through part of the heavy tome.

“Now, I believe it time to return to the point the honourable Lord Dondarrion made. If any Lords or Ladies have anything to add to the conversation, I request that you do so politely and remain on topic.” Dumbledore called into the room – above them, Sirius caught the flash of a journalist’s camera going off in the Public Gallery above that of the heirs.

Lady Oakwood was the first to stand, her grey hair tied into a tight bun at the back of her head – if she weren’t a Vassal to House McGonagall, he would think she and Minerva sisters. “I find myself, once again, in a state of utter shock as I sit in this esteemed chamber, my Lords and Ladies. I may be almost as old as the Lord Dondarrion, but I can easily see that many of our children and children’s children are more powerful than ever, thanks in no small part to the sheer amount of Wand Cores available to us.”

There was a smattering of agreement throughout the chamber.

“And is it not, as the honourable Lord Ollivander’s brother always claims, ‘ _The wand chooses the wizard_ ’?”

Sirius watched as Lord Bertrand Ollivander stood, his burgundy robes hanging from his thin frame. “I must find myself in agreement with the honourable Lady Oakwood. Many of you came to my father, and now come to my brother for your wands, or those for your children.” Ollivander said – his appearance may have been thin and willowy, but his voice was powerful. “I know for a fact that many in this room have cores in their wands that would be outlawed by Lord Dondarrion’s proposal. What you propose, my Lord, would threaten to undo hundreds of years of research and advancement in spells and wand crafting – nay, it would see the extinction of entire species!”

Many in the room clapped and cheered as the eldest of the Ollivander brothers sat down. There were many in the room, however, that muttered their disagreement. Lord Dondarrion was the foremost among them.

“Lord Ollivander, I defend my advocacy for the regulation of these cores! It seems once a decade we are hearing of another possible core! How long would it be until good, British witches and wizards are forced to use Veela hair? It’s just not right!”

“If a Veela offers a hair willingly, it is just as potent a core as any other. There are many documented wizards and witches throughout the world that use such cores – to think otherwise is to be willfully ignorant.” Malcolm Hawke shot back as he stood from his chair – he was a tall, broad shouldered man with a thick head of hair and an impressive beard. He was also the head of a Vassal family to House Potter.

“And so now the Potters speak up! We were wondering when you would provide your infallible wisdom with the rest of us.” Lord Marchbanks chortled from his chair.

“I am merely stating truth and facts, my Lord – I understand if the words confused you, as you use them so rarely, it is no surprise you forgot their meaning.” Lord Hawke scoffed as he crossed his legs and reclined in his chair. Chuckles rumbled through the chamber.

Sirius watched as Marchbanks leapt to his feet and gripped the railing before him – even from the far side of the room, the reds and purples of his face were easy to spot. “You dare question my honour?”

“Your honour isn’t what the topic of conversation is about, my Lord. I would remind the chamber _once again_ , to keep the discussion _on topic_.” Dumbledore called out once again.

“If I may, Chief Warlock?” Umbridge called in her simpering voice – Sirius had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide the sneer that tugged on his lips. Dumbledore nodded. “I commend the honourable Lord Dondarrion for his excellent point. If I may, I propose including a bridge in this legislation to the upcoming legislation for the _Control_ _and_ _Distribution_ _of_ _Magical_ _Creatures_ scheduled to be brought before this body in three months.”

There was a small commotion as several voices rose at the same time and were silenced as he heard Amelia’s voice rang out across the chamber. “Undersecretary Umbridge, I assume you are not suggesting a bridge to the amendment which was brought before _my_ office and denied because of the extremes it would allow Aurors to go to apprehend Werewolves and Veela – not to mention _Goblins_ , who, may I remind you, _Delores_ , are a separate nation.”

Sirius wanted to stand and applaud the woman, if only for having visibly angered the pink toad. “Ah, thank you, _Amelia_ , for bringing that to my attention – I hadn’t received the memo.”

“We’re getting off track again!” Lady Juniper called, slamming her cane into the floor – the prominent Vassal of House Dumbledore. How long would it be until the likes of Lady Juniper were divided up between the Wizengamot? It was well known that both of the Dumbledore brothers were the last of their house, and Aberforth had no intention of ever taking a wife and fathering a child. It would be a shame to witness the end of such an old house, despite his personal feelings about the current Head of House.

Sirius stood slowly and clasped the rail before him as he looked around the chamber.

“You should be ashamed.” He began, looking directly at Lord Dondarrion. “I stand here in the place of Arcturus Black, and as the regent to House Potter – and I look around this room in disgust.”

He paused and allowed the men and women under his gaze to shift in their seats a little. “To suggest we _regulate_ the cores of our wands is ignorant and bigoted – would you go on to suggest only Half-Bloods or Purebloods would be afforded a wand in the years to come? Where do the disgusting ideals of _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ stop? Or the views of _Grindelwald_? What you espouse, _my Lord_ , is no different than _those_ men who came before you. Should we begin viewing you as the next _Dark Lord_?” Sirius growled, staring at Lord Dondarrion.

“You _dare_ -“ Dondarrion began, stumbling to his feet.

“ _I am not finished_!” Sirius bellowed, feeling his magic begin to prickle the skin along his arms. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment. “Veela have the right to use a wand, as do Werewolves. I _will not_ sit here, and watch bigoted old men and women condemn their fellow wizards and witches for simply being what they are or are afflicted by.”

Sirius looked around the room once more. “I am sure that a great many men and women sat in this chamber once – the conversations they had, all those hundreds of years ago, _still_ having an effect on our lives today. They would be ashamed of those who would support something like this.”

“I believe, _Heir_ Black, that you have made your point.” Lord Malfoy replied from his chair across the chamber. Lucius Malfoy was a tall, blonde haired man with his nose constantly pointed in the air.

“Indeed – House Longbottom stands behind House Potter and House Black.” Augusta called into the chamber as she rose from her chair a little further down the row. Sirius nodded to her.

“As does House Greengrass.” Castor announced, clasping his hands before him.

“House Bones supports House Black and Potter.” Amelia announced, and Sirius couldn’t help but turn to look at his betrothed and wink playfully at her. He saw her roll her eyes playfully as she fought back a smile – she had a reputation and an image to uphold to the Ministry.

“House McGonagall is of a like mind.” Minerva announced, her Scottish brogue thick from her annoyance. It was nice to see Minerva in the chamber, instead of her Regent during the school year – he could never bring himself to like the boisterous man, but he did seem like he had Minerva’s best interests at heart.

There were a number of Lords and Ladies that followed the declarations, from all sides of the Wizengamot. It seemed that Lord Dondarrion’s proposition wouldn’t make it past the governing body of Britain this time – though, there was no doubt in Sirius’s mind that the old man would find some way to wrangle it before them once again in the future.

Sometimes, he felt like weeping at the state of British politics – when had the society of wizards and witches devolved into such a state of petty differences and bigotry? Had it always been this way, and he’d just been oblivious to it? Perhaps. He tried not to think what James would have thought about it all.

Sirius glanced up at Harry, who he noted was still leaning against the railing of the balcony and was pleased to see the triumphant grin on the boy’s face. The grin bolstered his resolve – he would continue to work tirelessly to make the world a better place for Harry, and when it came time for Harry to take his seat in the Wizengamot, Sirius would be proud to help his boy change the world.

The bangs of Dumbledore’s gavel echoed once more throughout the cavernous room, and Sirius sat with the other Lords and Ladies – as comfortable as the chair was, it was made less-so by his gambeson and gorget.

“The motion to review the regulation of Wand Cores is denied.” Minister Fudge called, peering through the spectacles on the tip of his nose at the parchment in his hand. “Next call to order, Department of Accidental Magic budget review.”

* * *

Sirius grinned as Harry came into view. The Wizengamot had lasted most of the day, and he had honestly expected Harry to have been bored to tears – he knew he would have been at Harry’s age. He swept the boy up in his arms and span him around as they both laughed – Sirius’s previous sour mood was completely forgotten.

He placed Harry back onto the floor and gently tugged on one of the loose strands of Harry’s hair. His boy was dressed in his armour, just as he was, though with a cloak that had a smoky wolf pelt stitched across his shoulders and the sigil of his house embossed on the straps that crossed over his chest.

Harry’s face scrunched up adorably as he swatted his hand away – two muffled snickers behind him drew his attention to Daphne and Neville. Neville, like Harry, was wearing his usual armour – though he noticed a few changes. There was a lot more fur, for one, and the gambeson was shorter, ending at the mid-thigh and was cinched at his waist by a large belt with the Longbottom Bear on it.

Daphne, on the other hand, had opted for a long black dress with a black-lace bodice. Her hair was held in an intricate up-do, and tight ringlets framed her porcelain face. While Neville was grinning toothily, she simply quirked a brow and smirked.

“I see you survived the session without me – you’re growing up too quickly, pup.” Sirius grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Neville, Daphne – it’s good to see you both.”

“Sirius.” Daphne replied with a polite nod, while Neville’s grin got a little cheekier.

“Old dog.” The boy said.

“Little Bear.” Sirius quipped back, quickly stepping around Harry and tucking Neville’s head into the crook of his arm as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Not too old to still teach you a lesson, am I?”

The laughter of Neville and Harry was interrupted by the approaching click-clack of heels on the marble stone. Sirius looked up momentarily to take in Amelia and Susan Bones.

Amelia was dressed in black heeled shoes, and a grey suit-skirt with a matching jacket. Her blouse was white, and the cloak of House Bones was draped across her shoulders delicately. He took in the creamy expanse of her neck and noted the soft smile she saved only for him – it had been a smile he had first received when she pulled him into a broom cupboard on the seventh floor.

Susan, by contrast seemed rather nervous and on-edge as her eyes darted from himself to Harry and back again. Her red hair was tied back into a simple bun, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously. Like Daphne, Susan was attired in a simple dress, though Susan’s was a shimmering bronze that caught the light and complimented her hair nicely.

“Heir Longbottom, should you wish to make a statement about your treatment at the hands of Heir Black, my office would be happy to make an appointment.” Amelia said formally, stopping just a few feet away from the small group.

Sirius heard Harry clear his throat, and he realised he’d been staring at his betrothed – which also meant that he still had the struggling and laughing Neville in a headlock. He released the boy, who stumbled back a little with a grin.

“No charges will be necessary, my Lady – give it another year, and I assure you it’ll be the other way around.” Neville replied, his cheeks rosy.

“You think?” Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows as he turned to look at the boy.

“I know so – we Longbottoms are made of powerful stuff. I’ll be a bear before you know it!”

“Indeed – well, in that case, I think we can agree that any injuries Heir Black may sustain would have been entirely justified, no?” Amelia smirked, cocking a brow as she looked at Sirius.

“Injuries? From the cub?” Sirius gasped, reaching over, and grabbing the boy again. “From this little tyke? I’m terrified.”

Susan giggled as he grabbed Neville in another headlock and ruffled his hair again. Harry, it seemed, had forgone attempting to stifle his laughter, and was now leaning against the wall and wiping the tears from his eyes as he watched his best friend. After a moment longer, if only to bask in his boy’s laughter for a little longer, he released Neville with a chuckle of his own.

“You asked for that.” Daphne chuckled as Neville ran his fingers through his hair, which had grown quite a bit in his time at Hogwarts, it seemed. Gone was the messy mop atop his head, replaced by a thick head of shoulder-length hair that was tucked behind his ears.

“I’ll get him.” Neville grumbled.

“You say that every time.” Harry chuckled. “I’ve yet to see you get him once.”

“A man can dream.” The little bear muttered, shoving Harry playfully.

“Boys, boys, we have guests. There’s a certain level of decorum to be observed.” Sirius winked, placing his hands behind his back as he turned to look at the two Bones.

A very Daphne-snort stopped him mid-turn.

“Daphne? Something to share with the class?” He asked with a raised brow.

“No, Sirius – just the thought of you behaving, is all.” She grinned cheekily. Sirius grasped at his breast as if he had been mortally wounded and stumbled his way to Amelia – it was a good job that they were the only ones left in the corridor. “I’ve been wounded by the evil witch, Milady – you must save me!”

“Indeed? Wounded by a girl not even in her teens – my, either you’re not the wizard I thought you to be, or she’s far more powerful than even Dumbledore himself.” Amelia quipped, patting him on the cheek gently. Susan giggled again.

“I like to think it’s a combination of both.” Daphne smirked – Sirius stuck his tongue out at her, earning him a roll of her eyes.

“If your theatrics are _quite_ over, I thought to formally introduce my niece – Susan, meet Heir Potter, Heir Longbottom, Heir Greengrass, and Heir Black.” She paused before leaning over to her niece and whispered loud enough for them all to hear, “Even though he _looks_ like an adult, don’t let him fool you – he’s still little more than a child.”

Sirius frowned. “That would make you-“

“Quite unfortunate, I would say.” Amelia said, cutting him off with a pointed look. Sirius felt his jaw snap shut.

“You have my condolences, Lady Bones.” Daphne sighed dramatically, offering a small curtsey to the Director.

“I thank you, Heir Greengrass – your words are much appreciated.” Amelia replied with a grin.

“It’s good to see you again, Susan.” Harry smiled, stepping up to the Bones Heir and brushing his lips against her knuckles, as was proper.

“The pleasure is mine, Harry.” Susan replied in a low voice, dipping into a quick curtsey of her own. “And Neville – it’s nice to see you too. Hello to you too, Daphne.”

“Hello.” Daphne replied with a tight smile, while Neville simply offered a small wave.

Sirius clapped his hands together and gave them a quick rub as he looked around the group. “Now, I believe the plan was for everyone to return to Blackwall for a day or two, correct?”

Indeed, that was the plan – Amelia and Susan were to join them for a long weekend at Blackwall Manor. The idea was to attempt to recreate the missed opportunity of the Christmas break – Amelia had even booked the time off from the Ministry! Apparently, it had been the talk of the office for _days_.

Sirius and Amelia had already made the arrangements for the House Elves to collect their things, and although Neville and Daphne couldn’t stay for the entire weekend, he had no doubt they would appear sporadically.

They began to make their way through the Ministry towards the Floos – Amelia’s hand wrapped around his left arm, and his own right hand was draped around Harry’s shoulders. As they moved, with the children, minus Harry, walking directly in front of them, he could hear the occasional whisper from those they passed.

He cared little for the opinions of those who worked at the Ministry – well, all except one – and so paid little attention to them most of the time. This time, however, he had his future wife on his arm and was accompanied by his son and so paid a little closer attention, even as he laughed and joked with those in his company.

There were the usual whispers of _The Stone Lady_ , referring to Amelia’s usual expressionless face. She had built a façade around herself over the years, it seemed, of a woman who was utterly unfazed by anything – it had been a survival tactic, in a way.

The Ministry was still largely male-dominated – particularly in the Auror department. For Amelia to have climbed the ranks to the top spot over little more than a decade was impressive. Of course, there would always be rumours over such things, but Sirius knew that her position of power was well-earned. The low crime rate was an excellent example.

There were other whispers as well – those whispering of _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ and other such drivel. It was an unfortunate aspect of Harry’s life. It was terrible that he’d lost his parents – a witch and wizard that Sirius himself loved fiercely – but to be reminded of it every time someone muttered that _stupid_ title made his wand-hand itch.

He felt Amelia’s grip on his arm tighten and he released a shaky breath as they passed a particularly loud pair of wizards as they stared openly. He could only imagine how awful it must have been in those first weeks at Hogwarts for Prongslet.

He glanced at the woman on his arm and offered her a quick smile before they approached the Floo Elf. Quickly, Sirius paid the powder fees for them all, and they found themselves engulfed in flames one at a time.

Upon his arrival at Blackwall, Sirius was greeted by the familiar sight of Arcturus’s study. Normally guests arrived in the main foyer, but each of them were considered family – including Susan, who even Sirius hadn’t met until her quick introduction at the Ministry.

Ideally, Harry and Susan would have met by now – Sirius would admit that he had been rather looking forward to meeting the young girl, having briefly known her parents. By all accounts of Amelia, she was a smart girl with a love of magical creatures.

Sirius had seen the Bones castle in Dorset and had been impressed at the sheer number of creatures they had. The Ossuary was a castle atop a hill near the south-coast – it had an interesting design, as you had to enter the almost vertical hill at the base to gain entry. As a result, the single entrance was _heavily_ defensible, though it was still scarred from the assault that had left Susan an orphan.

Within the grounds, however, was plenty of space for the herd of Thestrals he had seen – beautiful specimens they were too. He’d expect nothing less from the family who’s sigil had the creatures on them. It was said that, in the past, the Lords of House Bones would ride their Thestrals into battle – what a sight that must have been.

There were other creatures, of course, housed in a number of habitats and attended to by the Bones Elves. He’d seen Unicorns, Diricrawls, a pair of Leucrottas and an Augurey – that one had apparently been added by Susan herself.

By the time Sirius had shrugged his cloak from his shoulders, it was just himself and Amelia left in the room – Harry had dragged the other children from the room as he babbled excitedly about his own creatures. He swept his gaze to Amelia, who had quickly rid herself of her own cloak and her jacket.

Closing the distance between them, he slid his hands around her waist and quickly captured her lips with his own, feeling her own hands thread themselves around his neck. He pulled away with a small groan and gently placed his forehead against her own.

“Heir Black, are you taking _liberties_?” Amelia murmured – even now, her pupils were dilated and her words were slightly breathless.

“Perhaps – would you complain if I did?” He muttered back, a small smirk on his lips.

“That would depend.”

“Oh?” He asked, quirking a brow.

Amelia nodded sagely and patted his cheek. “On how quickly we can get upstairs and get you out of that armour.”

“Say no more, my Lady!” Sirius chuckled, sweeping Amelia up and over his shoulder, causing a small shriek to escape her lips, only to dissolve into a fit of giggles – in all his years, he had never imagined Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, _giggling_ like a school girl.

With a firm pat to her posterior, he was out of the room and almost taking the stairs two-at-a-time towards his room. The children were outside, no doubt under the watchful eyes of Lispy, Remus and Arcturus were not likely to return any time soon, and he had his betrothed over his shoulder.

Despite the poor start to the day, Sirius was in a marvellous mood – he had mischief to get up to, after all.


	21. Harry XIII

He stepped into Arpton Keep with a small smile on his lips. The chamber was spartan, with only the mirror itself set into the wall and the small flickering blue flames of _Magefyre_ in the scones set around the room. He grinned as Brandon rose from his kneeling position by the door – a pair of guards, each with their own unique staves quickly following him.

“Arpton Keep is yours, my Lord.” Brandon smiled, bowing his head a little as he did so.

“Thank you, Brandon – no doubt it continued to thrive under your care.”

“You’re too kind, Lord Potter.”

Harry’s eyes took a quick glance at the guards flanking Brandon for a moment, and he grinned as he noticed one of them was Felix. The years since the ambush had been kind to the man, and upon their last visit, Harry had congratulated the man on his first child.

Felix had dealt with the ambush far better than he had, he’d even taken the time in the week between their arrival and when he had sworn fealty to speak to Harry and offer some words of advice and comfort. Over the years, Harry had heard how he was sweet on a woman in his Household Guard and how they had planned to marry.

Of course, Harry had given his blessing and had even attended the ceremony – it was a short, intimate affair, and it was not long until Harry was congratulating the man once again. The babe must have been a year old by now – had so much time passed so quickly?

“Felix!”

“My Lord – always a pleasure to welcome you home.” The man smiled, his eyes twinkling in the light of the blue flames.

Despite Felix having been a relative stranger when the ambush had happened, there had been a bond forged between the four of them. Sirius, Remus, Felix, and he would often talk late into the night, and Felix was often assigned as his personal guard in their stays, along with a number of others if they left the castle.

The sound of Sirius and Remus stepping through the mirror behind him caused him to briefly turn his head. There, walking between them, and loaded with their belongings, was Arlan. The slate coloured stallion nervously looked around the room at the assembled humans before letting out a puff of air into Remus’s face, causing Sirius to chuckle.

“Ah, I see you brought a new visitor – are you collecting creatures, my Lord?” Brandon chuckled, winking at Harry. He found himself chuckling as he stepped up to the horse and rubbed between its eyes gently.

“Not yet, Brandon – maybe one day. Will you be able to get him to the stable? Truth be told, I can’t quite remember how wide the stairs are.”

“Aye, we’ll get him there. Smyth, get to it.” Brandon said to the other guard. The man nodded and stepped up to Arlan and took him by the reins while Sirius and Remus unloaded the few bags from his back.

They had brought a few personal items with them, such as their own saddles, books, and other such things. The first items Harry had stowed away had been his sword and his armour – not to mention his schoolbooks. Sirius had teased him a little, though Remus had commended him for his dedication to his studies. Truthfully, he simply hoped to one-up Hermione when term started again, but they didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll summon some of the staff to have these taken to your chambers, Lord Potter.” Brandon smiled before stepping out of the room for a moment. In his brief absence, Arlan was unburdened of the rest of their property, and was quickly led through the large doorway, his hooves clip-clopping against the stone floor.

Not a moment after Arlan was gone, Brandon entered the room once again with a handful of the castle staff in his wake – no doubt the man had them waiting nearby to assist them. They offered short bows and curtsies to the three of them, which he returned with a small smile, and quickly gathered their belongings and left.

With the room now empty, Brandon stepped to the side and gestured to the still open doorway. “The castle desires to welcome you home, my Lord.”

Harry let out a small sigh, Sirius and Remus joined Brandon in chuckling quietly. He led the way through the door and out into the corridor. The halls were empty as they wound their way through the castle, climbing a number of staircases as they went.

While the castle ran deep into the cliff it was perched upon, the _Ro’rim_ chamber wasn’t anywhere close to the lowest level, and for that, Harry was eternally thankful. Not only did it mean that Arlan would have an easier time of getting to the stables, but it also meant he wasn’t climbing hundreds of steps.

They came to the main entrance to the castle in short order, and the two guards pulled the doors open at his short nod. He squinted a little as the sun momentarily blinded him, but he would not shield his eyes. He stepped onto the top step and looked out at the courtyard as the breeze ghosted its way across his skin and caused the hem of his doublet to ripple a little.

The courtyard was silent as everyone knelt and bowed their heads in his direction. He heard Sirius and Remus step to the side quietly, Brandon took his position at his right, and Felix hovered a little behind.

“Rise, my friends!” Harry called into the yard, smiling as everyone stood. He barely waited a moment before moving down the steps to the closest congregation of people – he heard Remus chuckle quietly and say something to Sirius but couldn’t make out the words.

The first group he approached were all servants by the look of them – though it seemed they were all wearing their best clothes, not that he would ever allow anyone employed by House Potter to want for anything. They looked after his _home_ – they made his food, washed his clothes and guarded him with their lives – the very least he could do was pay them well and make sure their own needs were taken care of.

“Tarner – I trust you’re well? How are your sons?” He asked, grinning at the oldest among them. He was a grey-haired man with a wild beard that was a few inches long and still spotted with the occasional patch of red. Harry clasped his hand and shook it.

“Hale and hearty, Mi’lord. Jasper continues to manage the farm, and Ulric hopes to move his family to the Capitol by the next harvest.” Tarner replied with a proud grin as his chest puffed out ever so slightly.

Harry had taken the time over the years to get to know each of the residents of his castle. He had decided early on to treat them as if they were family, and they had loved him for it – many, it had turned out, had been sceptical of a _Potter_ raised by _Blacks_. He did it, not out of a desire to prove he was who he was, or to gain their love and loyalty, but because he _cared_.

He had heard Arcturus once describe being a Lord as to being a father, and each man and woman sworn to him were a child. Harry had decided to live by those words.

“And you, Martha, you’re positively _glowing_!” Harry grinned at the young pregnant girl with blonde hair and a beaming smile. She gave him a deep curtsy and bowed her head.

“Thank you, Mi’lord – it’s sure to be a strong child, we’ve no doubt of that.”

“Where is the lucky man? I don’t see Osgood in the crowd.” Harry frowned, sweeping his eyes around the courtyard.

“He left last week to patrol the southern border – there’ve been rumours of raiders in the area.” Martha replied as she began to worry at her grey dress between her fingers with her free hand, while her other held the large swell of her stomach.

Harry looked over to Brandon, who nodded with a grim face. “The reports came in two days before I dispatched them. I sent a score to deal with them – more can be dispatched immediately if you think it prudent, however.”

Harry was silent for a moment and rubbed at his jaw before he sighed. “We’ll await word – you were wise to send them.” He turned back to Martha and took her hand in his own. “I’m sure he’ll return to you, my Lady – Osgood is one of the finest warriors we have.”

“Thank you, Mi’lord.”

Harry continued down the line and made sure to spend some time conversing with as many as he possibly could. By the time he reached his Household Guard, who were all standing in their armour proudly, the sun sat high in the sky.

“Captain!” Harry grinned, clasping the man’s gauntleted hand firmly. “Your leadership has kept the Guard looking as strong as ever.”

“It’s my honour to serve, my Lord.” Ewan Fulmer, Captain of his Household Guard smiled, inclining his head a little.

“And Marshal Sulyard – your continued training of the men, as always, continues to impress me.” Harry grinned at the tall woman with auburn hair. She returned his grin and inclined her head slightly at the praise.

“I do my best, my Lord.” Sulyard replied humbly.

“I was hoping to make use of your skills, Marshal. I wish to continue my martial training and learn to duel.” Harry glanced back at Sirius and Remus, who were standing patiently on the stairs leading up to the main keep. “There was an… unfortunate situation this year, and I found myself not knowing a way to adequately defend either myself nor my friends.”

“You wish for me to train you?” She questioned, shifting from foot to foot slightly, causing her armour to shift and clank a little.

“Aye, if it doesn’t interrupt your other duties. Anything to give me an advantage in the future, though I understand three weeks isn’t a long time-“ He began, finding himself rambling a little as the woman eyed him carefully.

“My Lord, training you isn’t a problem – if you were raised here, you would have been under my instruction from the day you could walk.” Sulyard smiled, and for a moment, Harry was sure he could hear a number of the men and women behind her snickering. “The problem is, I have no idea of the current level of skill and knowledge you possess.”

Harry frowned and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he mulled the thought over in his mind for a moment. It was an issue, yes, but there was often a solution for everything. He pursed his lips for a brief moment before he began speaking again. “What if, for the first day, you may test my abilities and knowledge however you deem fit?”

“That is acceptable to me, Lord Potter.”

“Excellent – I look forward to learning from you, Marshal Sulyard.” Harry grinned, feeling the urge to bounce on the spot. Suddenly, he had far too much energy – he had been hoping for this opportunity since Neville had gifted him the book on combat spells for Christmas.

He continued down the line and greeted the rest of his household warmly. By the time he had finished, he had walked the entire perimeter of the courtyard and returned to the steps of the castle where Sirius and Remus smiled at him proudly.

There was a brief burst of flame above him, and he looked up to see Clara’s arrival. Her wings beat strongly, and he could _feel_ her joy at returning home when he closed his eyes. He basked in the feeling, revelling in Clara’s emotions as the heat from her feathers ghosted over his skin.

He opened his eyes and beamed at the bird as she landed before him, her song happy and _free_ as it echoed around the quiet castle. He knelt down before her and scratched her chin with his index finger while his left hand smoothed the feathers on her neck down to her back.

“Didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?” He whispered, just quiet enough for only his familiar to hear.

He had left Hedwig in the care of Arcturus – she was faster than any of the other birds House Black owned, and while he loved the Snowy Owl, he knew she enjoyed her independence – something he wouldn’t be able to offer her at Arpton.

There was something to be said about the safety she experienced at Blackwall and at Hogwarts. He knew she didn’t hunt in the Forbidden Forest and preferred the open grounds near the mountain on the far side of the lake – he knew she was safe there. Even the grounds around Blackwall were fairly open and a good hunting ground for her, however, the grounds around Arpton had much larger creatures than the occasional fox.

“Why don’t you go and get yourself some food, hm?” He whispered as Clara nipped at his thumb playfully. She blinked slowly and tilted her head before leaping into the air and flying towards the Owlery to take full advantage of the entire floor she presided over.

“She took longer to get here than I thought she would.” Sirius said after a moment, placing his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze once he’d gotten back to his feet.

“Maybe just a lazy morning – you know how she can get.” Harry shrugged, turning to look up at the man.

Sirius nodded slowly. “Aye, we know.” He chuckled before turning toward the entrance doors. Harry turned to check the courtyard once more, smiling as everyone began to return to their duties. Already, he could hear the regular clanging of the Blacksmith, and the calling of various men and women as they went about their duties.

He turned to join Sirius and Remus as they re-entered the castle, Brandon already patiently waiting for them – no doubt to give a full breakdown of the events of the castle and his lands in his absence.

It was good to be home.

* * *

Harry stepped into his chambers with a contented sigh. It had been a long day – arriving early and having made sure to greet all that he could. Then, once the greetings were done, he had been in meeting after meeting with the various heads of his household. Sometimes, Sirius and Remus would join him, while others had been solely himself and Brandon.

The meetings had been as they usually were, truth be told. Extraordinarily little in the castle needed his direct intervention, and when it did, he made sure to consult those who had more experience in such matters than he.

Roaming bandits on his lands were one such matter for which he had sought advice. His initial reaction had been to send out more of his men, he was also highly aware of just how much longer it would take a larger force to scour the countryside. More men meant more resources, and more resources made the men slower – it was better to travel fast and light. With the council of his advisors, it had been decided to send out another score of men in a week’s time if they hadn’t heard anything – that, at least, helped put his mind to rest a little.

It was not just for Martha that he was worried, but of the countless number of innocents who lived and worked on his lands. He had a large population to look after, and while his Bannermen helped to alleviate that burden somewhat, he still felt responsible.

In the quiet of his personal study – a room he only used currently for the meetings he held when he visited – his Steward had given him more details on the reports. The bandits, or raiders, or whatever people wanted to call them, were moving from hamlet to hamlet in a small group of a little over a dozen men. They would strike fast and strike hard, and he’d even heard of some women having been taken.

It was the taken women that worried him the most. He knew that they could defend and look after themselves. So far, they hadn’t been able to save a single one that had been taken. The criminals had strung them up in the trees after they were through with them and hung them by their necks. By all accounts, they had all died quick deaths – there were some small mercies, at least.

The sooner the savages were captured or killed, the better. He would bring all of his and his House’s strength to bear against anyone who would think to harm those he was responsible for, and for the first time in his life, he found himself contemplating just what that would entail.

The concept of taking a life, even as a punishment for a crime, did not sit well with him, but he knew it to be one of the responsibilities he held as a Lord. The law of the land was remarkably simple, if medieval – while most crimes were punished with jail or a hefty fine, there were others that the punishment was the loss of a hand, or the loss of life.

He’d had to judge some of those cases over the years since his first arrival – a thief here, a drunken brawl there – nothing too drastic. He’d learned from Arcturus, Sirius, and the vast collection of records of previous Lord Potters in the Arpton Library that House Potter kept to _The_ _Old Way_ , from a time _before_ the King, and before the formation of their society as a whole.

Apparently, it wasn’t just his family either – House Gryffindor, House Black, House Avery, House Serrett, House Ruccall and House Goodridge to only name a few. All were old, powerful families and held to the belief that ‘ _He who judges, executes_ ’.

He understood the meaning behind it – if you judge a man and sentence him to death, you should be able to look him in the eye as you do it. It was pragmatic, simple and _terrifying_. It placed the sole responsibility of the accused’s life squarely on his shoulders – if he couldn’t look the criminal in the eye and hear their final words, did they deserve to die?

Harry looked around the room that was by rights, his. It was well furnished, just as he remembered, and he noticed the changes he had requested had been made. His bed was placed against the inner wall, raised a little off of the floor on a small wooden platform, barely a step high and covered in fur rugs. This allowed the large glass windows, which led to the balcony to shine directly onto the bed as the sun rose. It was a magnificent view to wake up to.

Between both of the windows, however, was a section of the outer wall that had previously been adorned with a large tapestry. Despite the spell-work that was woven into the very threads and fibres of the tapestry, it was faded and old – and Harry hoped to one day use the section of the room as his own little writing nook. Nothing extravagant, but something _his_.

As such, he had requested his House Words to be engraved into the stone with white marble. He reached up and traced the calligraphy: _Under The Moon, We Howl_ , and just below it, _We Watch The Way_.

He had found the two mottos in his grandfather’s journal in the Rosestone Library in Wales not long before he had departed for Hogwarts – it was a link to his family, one that he hadn’t told anyone about, for there was no real way of bringing it up in casual conversation, he had tried to live by and understand those words.

It had been a challenge. How did one interpret _Under The Moon, We Howl_? The wolf imagery, he understood – it was the Potter sigil. The words must have meant something to his ancestors at some point, surely. His first assumption was _Lycanthropy_ , but no Potter had ever been so afflicted, not even a rumour of such, whenever he had tried to research the topic.

Perhaps the founder of his house, Rickard Potter, had a wolf familiar – after all, wolves didn’t go extinct in Britain until the sixteenth century, so it was entirely possible it was an homage. As for the second motto? _We Watch The Way_? What did that even mean?

The only thing he could even vaguely link to _that_ was the locations of Arpton Keep and Rosestone – perhaps, House Potter had once guarded the coast of Wales against invaders? And now they watched over those they cared for? If that were the case, they were strong words to live by.

Harry turned as the door to his chamber opened slowly, and saw Sirius standing there with a small smile on his face. Harry gestured for him to come in as he sat on the end of his bed, looking up at the words in the stone.

“Ah, got them done, did they?” Sirius grinned as he sat down next to him and stretched his legs out.

“I just saw them before you came in.” Harry grinned in return.

“Still trying to work out what they mean?”

“How do you know I haven’t already?” He replied with a smirk.

Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I know you better than _you_ know you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though he had to give the man credit – he had been correct each time he made a guess as to how he was feeling and what he was thinking over the years. There was nothing he could get past Sirius – well, maybe the _occasional_ thing.

“It’s a connection.” He sighed after a moment. “The meaning might have been lost, but I can interpret them as I understand them, at least.”

“And how do you interpret them?” Sirius asked, leaning back on his elbows slightly.

“ _Under The Moon, We Howl_ – I have no idea, besides our sigil, if I’m honest. I still have _hundreds_ of journals to read through.” Harry sighed and rubbed a hand down his face tiredly. He still had the Welcome Feast to get through. “ _We Watch The Way_ – I’ll look after all of those under my charge as best I can. I’m responsible for them, and it’s my duty to make sure they’re happy and safe.”

“Admirable.” Sirius said with a slow nod, before he reached out and pulled Harry into his side, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. “When did you grow up, hm?”

Harry smiled as he wrapped his arms around the father he chose. He did feel rather grown up, if he were honest with himself, but he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be able to play with other children, to only have to worry about his exams and Quidditch – _maybe_ becoming the top of the class.

He had always been mature – Arcturus had made sure of that, though Sirius had given him a playful side that he kept under firm control most of the time. Though, if Sirius pranked him, all bets were off – he was a Marauder’s son, after all.

There _was_ one defining moment that stood out to him, of course – it _always_ stood out to him… The Ambush on the road. That feeling of helplessness, seeing people die to protect _him_ – sometimes, he could hear Clara yelling at him to hide behind the rock, other times, it was a muffled, muted command he could barely hear. When the nightmares came, and they always came, it would always end with her vacant eye staring up at him in surprise.

He’d vowed never to be so helpless again – and, to a degree, he wasn’t. He’d learned how to properly use the dagger he always kept on his belt, or in his boot at school, and had learned how to fight with a sword. He hadn’t felt _that_ helplessness until he’d gone to Hogwarts and had stood toe to toe with Voldemort.

Even now, safe in the confines of Arpton Keep, where he knew he was safe, he still felt a little on edge. His only hope was that the feeling would dissipate as the years trickled on.

“The Ambush… And Quirrell.” Harry murmured as he tightened his arms around Sirius. He felt Sirius squeeze him back.

“I’m so sorry, Harry – I should have noticed something was off about him.” Sirius sighed.

“No, you’ve nothing to apologise for – he fooled everyone.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Harry simply closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of the man who had raised him. The window was slightly open, and the sounds of Arpton’s courtyard filtered through, even as the sun began to fall beyond the horizon – the soft, melodic song of Clara as she roosted in the Owlery, the perfect accompaniment.

“I’m so proud of who you’re becoming, Harry. So proud.” Sirius whispered eventually, squeezing him a little. Harry sat up after a moment, smiling as he looked down at his Dogfather.

“Did I ever tell you about _after_ the Ambush?” He asked after a moment, fiddling with the hem of his doublet nervously.

Sirius sat up and shook his head slowly and gently rubbed Harry’s back.

He drew in a shaky breath and glanced at his lap. “I’m Harry James _Potter_ – son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Rose Evans, future Lord to House Potter and the last of my line.” Harry began, watching as Sirius nodded slowly. “I don’t remember either of them – they’re my parents, of course and I love them, but despite all the books and stories, I don’t _know_ them.”

“We can find more-“ Sirius began, but Harry held up his hand.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say – I’m thankful for _anything_ related to them, really. I’ve been raised by four _wonderful_ people, Arcturus, Remus, Lispy, and you. _You_ are my family, Sirius – the family I _chose_.” Harry sniffed as his throat constricted. He took a shaky breath and blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. “After the Ambush, there was a moment when I was watching you in front of the pyre – I wanted to make you proud. James Potter is my father by blood, but _you_ are the father I chose.”

Sirius engulfed him in a bone-crushing embrace instantly, and Harry threw his own arms around his chest, trying to squeeze just as much. The two of them shook with silent tears for a moment as they rocked side to side. He heard Sirius murmur incoherent things into his hair as he pressed light kisses to his scalp.

Eventually, Sirius pulled back and moved to kneel before Harry at the foot of the bed. “I could not be prouder of you, Harry. You’re a fine young man, and you’ll be an exceptional wizard one day. From the day I first held you in Hogwarts, to the day we both pass from this world, you will _always_ be my son.”

Harry leapt forward and threw his arms around Sirius’s shoulders and buried his face in the mans neck, thankful that Sirius wasn’t wearing his armour today – they had stayed a night at Rosestone before arriving here, so there had been no threat of danger. “I love you, Sirius.”

“I love you too, Harry.” Sirius murmured back, gently stroking his back.

They remained together for a moment before Harry finally decided to pull back and the two of them cleared their throats. Harry finally stood and rubbed his face with his hands before moving to the large balcony glass doors, Sirius close behind as they stepped onto the balcony.

“I can’t imagine you came to my room for a heart-to-heart.” Harry chuckled as he leaned against the stone railing, picking absently at one of the leaves from the ivy that grew along it.

“No, no I didn’t.” Sirius chuckled as he leaned on the railing next to him. “I came to talk to you about the bandits.”

“What about them?” Harry asked.

“It’s a hard life here, despite all of our magic and spells. In some ways, a lot of ways, it’s better than Britain – here, we don’t have to hide and can simply be ourselves.” Sirius began, nodding at the bustling activity below them. “But in other ways, it’s far more dangerous. I know it seems rather backwards to us – _medieval_ , even – but it’s been this way for centuries.”

Sirius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose slightly. “ _Morgana_ , I’m saying this all wrong.” He muttered. “Look, what I’m trying to say, is that there are aspects of life here, that no child should have to deal with – like it or not, son, you’re a child.”

Harry, who already had his mouth open to protest, snapped it shut with a roll of his eyes. “These people are raiding, pillaging, and _killing_ those I’m sworn to protect.” Harry began, feeling his magic momentarily flare along his fingers as he thought on them. “If I can’t protect them, how will they trust me when I _do_ take my place?”

“They _will_ trust you – but you need to trust _them_ as well. You try to do too much yourself – you have Bannermen. Use them.”

“But these are on _my_ lands – not my Bannermen’s lands. Is it not my responsibility?”

“It is, but you need to learn to share burdens. Make the Bannermen feel useful – it’ll play dividends in the future. Not to mention, they may have raided _their_ land before your own. It’s common knowledge you’re attending Hogwarts most of the year and thought themselves free of retribution.” Sirius answered, placing a hand on Harry’s left shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze.

Harry continued staring down into the courtyard. “If any of them are captured, it’ll be on me to put them on trial and to swing the sword.” He said, flatly.

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Sirius said after a moment.

“It’s our way, Sirius – _He who judges, executes_. You taught me that.”

“Aye, I did, and I stand by that – but you can assign someone to judge them in your place. You wouldn’t even need to be there. If I had my way, I’d have you never need to execute someone – stay a _boy_ a little longer, hm?”

Harry looked at him for a moment before he slowly nodded his head. “If any of them are brought back, I’ll leave it to you.”

“Good – I’ll not have you suffer this burden just yet. We all just want what’s best for you.” Sirius smiled a little as he clapped him on the shoulder.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware.” He huffed out a breath as the wind ghosted across his cheeks and a bird – perhaps a Swallow, it was too high to tell, flittered above the castle. “What’s it like?” He asked after a moment, glancing at Sirius as the bird disappeared.

Sirius pushed from the railing and leaned his back against it and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s easy – too easy, sometimes – and it’s _terrifying_.”

Harry blinked, not having expected the answer. Sirius shrugged and tucked a stray strand of his loose hair behind his ear. “It sounds cheesy, but you realise we’re all just sacks of meat with some bone holding it all up. Sword or spell, when you kill, it’s like cutting the strings of a puppet. Does that make sense?”

Harry nodded and swallowed as he watched a cart be unloaded below him.

“Do you remember your first?” He asked, after a moment.

“Aye – it was in the war. James and I had been ambushed somewhere off of Diagon Alley, just before you were born. Used my dagger on a Death Eater. After that, it all blurs together – I still wake up at night, thinking I’m in that street with James.”

“How do you deal with it?” Harry questioned, feeling his brow furrow as he picked at a fresh leaf. “I keep seeing the Troll coming at me, or I’m standing in front of Quirrell just before the explosion brought the ceiling down.” He felt a shiver run across his shoulders that had nothing to do with the cool breeze.

He saw Sirius shrug out of the corner of his eye. “You go on. Focus on the present and the future and try not to look back. If you look back, you’re lost.”

Harry snorted. “That sounds healthy.”

The deep chuckle of Sirius answered him before he heard him lean in a little closer. “I think we both know I’m not the best when it comes to coping mechanisms – but I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He snickered and flicked the remnants of the leaf into the breeze, watching as the small chunks flittered back and forth as they spiralled to the ground below. “How’s Amelia? Will you survive without her for three weeks?”

“It’ll be hard, but I’ll cope – what do you think of her?”

Harry was quiet for a moment before he pushed off of the railing and leaned his back against the stone, mirroring Sirius, and crossing his ankles casually. “She seems nice – I like her. Less enthusiastic about Susan, however.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked, confused.

He blew out a deep sigh and tapped a finger as he pursed his lips, thinking how he could word it correctly. “To Susan, I’m _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ first, and _Harry_ second. She’s like a lot of the students at Hogwarts, honestly.”

“Give it time.” Sirius replied with a small nod. “You’re both young – she’ll come to know Harry in the future.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. There was silence between the two of them for a few heartbeats, the sounds below them gradually dwindling. Harry admired the way the sunset made the stone almost glow – no doubt it looked breath-taking from the rolling plains below.

“You should get cleaned up – the Feast will be starting soon, and you’re the guest of honour.” Sirius grinned, pushing away from the railing casually. “Make sure you look pretty for all those eligible ladies down there.”

“Arse.” Harry grumbled under his breath, giving Sirius a little shove. He watched as the Marauder laughed to himself as he ducked into Harry’s room. He took one last glance at the setting sun before following Sirius into the room. By the time he was fully inside, Sirius had already left, and the door was shut.

He sighed as he looked about his chambers and stepped up to the desk below his House Words. There, sitting among the few sheets of parchment littered across the desk was a neatly folded envelope.

It had taken some bribery on his part, but he had finally managed to get Clara to deliver a letter for him – he would have asked Hedwig, but he wouldn’t have been able to get a reply. Clara, he’d found, had the unique ability to travel to wherever she wished – be that in Britain, or anywhere else.

As he hadn’t brought Hedwig to Arpton with him, it made sense that Clara would be the next logical step – though, if Sirius or Remus heard about it, he didn’t think he’d ever live it down. Years ago, when he’d first returned with Clara to Blackwall, he’d been adamant that he would never use Clara for sending letters – the fact she left a trail of flames in her wake as she flew only reinforcing his idea that it was stupid.

Now, she’d delivered not one, but _two_ letters in less than a day. He hadn’t expected a reply, if he were honest with himself, though he should have known better. She was going to be insufferable after this trip, and for not the first time, Harry was beyond thankful that Phoenixes couldn’t speak, unlike some creatures he’d heard muttering to themselves in Diagon Alley’s _Magical Menagerie_ last Summer.

It would cost him a new perch and a half-a-dozen slaughtered Aurochs, the large cattle having gone extinct in Britain centuries ago but had thrived through the _Ro’rim_. Clara was a cutthroat negotiator. She’d be gorging herself in the weeks they were here.

Harry opened the envelope with a swipe of his thumb and smiled as he pulled out the parchment – even in a simple letter like this, she kept using a quill and parchment. The envelope was standard paper, he knew – but there was something about seeing her tiny scrawl on the page that made him chuckle.

He had heard from all of his friends in the two weeks since they had returned from school, and he’d explained to both Tracey and Hermione that he would be unreachable by Owl in that time – Daphne and Neville knew where he was, of course, but it was something he just couldn’t share with the other two _yet_.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to, but more he physically _couldn’t_ – the Potter Family Magic simply wouldn’t allow it. He’d found himself stumbling on his words more than once during the year at Hogwarts, when he’d refer to something, or mention something in passing. He’d asked Sirius about it, of course, and wondered why Neville and Daphne knew, but he couldn’t tell others. The answer had been remarkably simple, in hindsight.

Both House Greengrass and House Longbottom were tied to House Potter through vows. As Tracey didn’t come from a house with lands and titles, she couldn’t swear the same oaths – and neither could Hermione as a Muggle-born. It was a cruel twist of fate, he thought, that two of his four friends wouldn’t be able to experience the other side of their world.

He smiled as his eyes took in Hermione’s scrawl – she wrote as she talked, and he found it refreshing. Too many wrote formally for his liking, and he found it closer to having his friend there with him as a result. He had already received her excited letter the day after the Wizengamot, telling him how her parents had surprised her with a trip to Spain for a fortnight.

Incidentally, that was the driving force behind getting Clara to agree to taking a letter for him – there wasn’t a chance Hedwig would make that journey. His letter had been short, simply informing her that he was leaving and that he hoped she enjoyed her holiday, which she was already enjoying in Barcelona.

Her reply, on the other hand, told him about all the fantastic things she had seen so far – the Sagrada Familia, which from what she described, was, apparently, a giant church. In her letter, she gushed over the history of the building, and how it was _still_ under construction over a century later and wasn’t planned to be finished for decades.

That absolutely baffled Harry – how could anything other than Castles and a handful of other buildings take more than a decade to complete? He knew for a fact that even Arpton had been habitable after only a year – the Potters had resided at Rosestone, or in Crochenwaith – the town that had sprung up a few miles down the cliff from Arpton.

The letter went on to describe other attractions, like a fountain that claimed to be _magic_ – which they both agreed was less than likely, the beach, and a number of museums she’d visited. He smiled as she described each one and the weather sounded gorgeous. Perhaps one day he’d visit Barcelona for himself – ideally without his armour and his doublet.

His eyes read the last sentence before tracking back to the envelope on the table. He frowned and picked it up before peering inside. His fingers reached for the small, shiny square of paper and brought it into the light.

Was that… Hermione?

It was.

He blinked and shook his head – how had he not recognised her immediately?

He looked closer and he could see why; she was smiling so freely, so openly. Her eyes sparkled with mirth and humour as her father pulled a funny face – he’d never understand why she hid that side of her at school. Her bushy, chestnut hair was hidden somewhat by a large, floppy hat that looked perfect with the celeste summer dress that seemed to billow in the breeze.

For a moment, he expected the picture to move, but then remembered Hermione came from the Muggle world – it would make sense that she’d use a Muggle camera. He smiled as he placed it down on the desk with the letter.

He’d thought on his first year at Hogwarts a fair amount since the holidays had begun – though Neville insisted that he had been _brooding_. There were a number of things that he missed, of course. The interesting portraits on the walls, the smell of the Forbidden Forest in a morning if the wind was just right, the Giant Squid and the Black Lake. _Merlin_ , he even missed the noisy Gryffindor Common Room. Of course, no matter what he thought of, the presence of his bushy-haired friend was the most pronounced among them all. Perhaps it was simply because he had seen Neville and Daphne at the Wizengamot and the following weekend.

He shrugged his doublet off after unfastening the straps and quickly lifted his tunic up and over his head. A quick glance down at his stomach revealed the long, thin scar on his side – it was still a harsh red, clashing violently against his normally pale complexion. Sirius and Remus had tried to make him feel better about it, claiming that as he got older, witches would love his scars. That he now had a small collection of three didn’t make him feel much better. He grimaced as he traced the line with a finger – sometimes he could still feel the spell cutting him.

He moved to his wardrobe – a large, varnished mahogany piece with a mirror inset into one of the two doors. He had brought his own clothes from Blackwall, he kept a wardrobe at Arpton and Rosestone at all times. He quickly pulled a dark grey tunic and a doublet with his house colours and sigil on it.

He shrugged them on quickly and tied the doublet with a practiced ease. Ideally, he would have bathed and made himself feel more refreshed – however, he hadn’t done anything particularly strenuous and had sat in various meetings all afternoon. It would do for tonight, and in the morning, he could go about having a bath after his first training session.

He found himself almost giddy with excitement, something that he had never quite been when training with Kina Parren. She had been ruthless in her training, and he loved her for it – but there was something about being taught by his own Marshal-At-Arms.

He had watched Sulyard train men in his previous visits and knew what to expect from the woman. She was without equal in the castle and had the unique gift of being able to pass that knowledge on. The possibilities of what he could learn in just three weeks gave him an energy that he hadn’t felt all day. How he was supposed to sleep after the Feast was utterly beyond him – he wished Neville could have joined him to learn alongside him.

He pulled the door open and grinned at the two guards that were standing outside his door – one of them was Felix, of course. The man was almost as dedicated as Sirius and Remus were. “Felix – I thought I told you to have the night off.”

Felix smiled down at him and ruffled his loose hair. “Aye, that you did, my Lord – but you’re here, and so I’ll watch over you.”

“Your wife? Your child?” Harry asked, scrunching his face as he tucked his hair behind his ears.

“Will manage without me for tonight.”

The other guard remained silent, his face stoic as he held his staff – like Felix’s own, it was angular and had a geometric focus at the top, though this one had a scythe-like blade on the bottom.

“If you insist, I suppose. You’ll both eat, however.” Harry sighed, pointing a finger between the two of them, causing both guards to bow their heads slightly. “Excellent. Come, I’m sure everyone is anxious to begin.”

They travelled through the castle quickly, with the heels of their boots echoing off of the stone floors and steps as they wound their way down. In no time at all, Harry entered the Great Hall to bellowing cheers, claps, and whistles.

Already Sirius and Remus were standing behind their chairs at the Head Table, and the aromas wafting from the many plates and dishes full of food on the trestle tables reminded him once more of Hogwarts.

Unlike a regular Feast, neither Sirius nor Remus would sit at his side. As it was a Welcoming Feast for the Lord of the castle, he would have Brandon at his right, and the Captain of his Guard, Ewan Fulmer on his left.

He climbed the few steps that elevated his own table above the rest and quickly stepped up to his chair – a wooden version of the Potter Throne that sat a little further behind him. As he looked down among the hundreds of eyes below him, all denizens of the castle and members of his Household, he grinned and clapped his hands loudly. “Let this feast begin!”

* * *

Harry groaned as he rolled onto his back, feeling the sheets tangle themselves among his feet. Despite the softness of the mattress and the sheets themselves, his entire body was sore, and he longed for nothing more than to remain in bed.

The sun still had not risen, and yet he could clearly hear Clara’s song from the Owlery through the open window, accompanied by the many hoots, howls and barks of the birds that resided there full-time.

He rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his palms and let out a sigh as he blinked groggily up at the canopy of his bed. It was the fourth day of the visit, and each morning so far, he had woken early and met Marshal Sulyard in the courtyard for his lessons.

They were everything he had hoped they would be. He wasn’t a complete novice when it came to bladework – he’d been instructed for two years by Kina, and had developed his instincts well, despite his age, but the year away from her instruction had left him rusty and feeling tired quicker than he was used to.

It was to be expected – where would he train with a sword at Hogwarts of all places? He was barely allowed to keep his dagger in his boot as it was – that had been an uncomfortable conversation with Professor McGonagall after Halloween. Apparently such things needed to be announced to the staff, for safety concerns. Begrudgingly, he had to concede that point.

He sat up slowly and felt the sheet pool around his hips as he propped himself up on his hands.

He may not still have the same level of endurance he’d had, but his muscles still remembered what they’d been taught, as did his feet. Sulyard had immediately pointed out his weaknesses – his strength, his reach, and his timing. In time, his strength and reach would fix themselves. He was, after all, still only eleven years old and had a lot of growing left to do. The timing was simply practice.

Harry swung his legs out of the bed reluctantly, knowing that lingering among the sheets would only earn him a harsher lesson once he made it down there. He stripped quickly before tugging on a comfortable pair of breeches and a loose tunic before going about and donning his armour. It had been deemed safer to wear this for now – all of the padded armour for the Lords and Heirs hadn’t been used in such a long time, it had become unusable and new ones had to be made and that would take time.

As he stood and reached for a leather tie for his hair, the first sounds of the castle filtered in through his window. Trystan, the castle blacksmith was already hammering away at his anvil while his apprentices got to work on the bellows and other such tasks.

He pulled the door open quickly and gave the two guards a polite nod before he made his way through the castle and down the staircases. Harry had all but ordered Felix to take time off, and to rotate a shift other guards he trusted – such as the two that currently followed in his wake; Alan Maddocks, a gifted Battlemage, and Seren Moss, a witch with an affinity for water magic.

Alan was tall and broad. He had a square jaw, and his nose was crooked, but he was pleasant enough. He always had a sword strapped to his hip and a wand holstered on his right forearm. Seren, on the other hand, was a petite woman with auburn hair, pale skin, and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She, like many of the Household Guard, carried a staff – it was made of a pale wood and had a large sapphire ball as a focus.

He stepped into the courtyard and immediately, his breath began to fog before his face, and the early morning chill made his nose twitch. Across from him, standing next to a rack of weapons in an enclosed area by the Barracks, was Sulyard.

He picked up the pace as he crossed the open space and quickly hopped the fence, landing on the soft soil, the two guards leaned against the wooden barrier and began murmuring between themselves – no doubt wagering how long it would take for him to end up on his arse.

“Lord Potter – are you ready to begin for the day?”

Marjorie Sulyard was dressed in similar attire to his own – a loose tunic and comfortable breeches tucked into leather boots. In her hands, with the tip pressed into the dirt, was a sparring sword.

“Aye.” Harry nodded, moving over to the weapons rack for his own blade. His fingers skimmed the various pommels as he searched for the one he was most comfortable with. He found it slightly off-centre and grinned as he pulled it out. It was heavier than the actual blade would be, and not quite as comfortable in the grip as he would like, but it still whistled through the air as he gave a few practice swings from left to right.

His breath fogged in front of his face and he found himself grinning. His enjoyment of sword fighting had stemmed from his discovery of the Mithril armour and the beautiful sword, deep within the bowels of the keep, he had quickly fallen in love with it.

He considered himself a fairly athletic person – he loved to fly, be it for simple enjoyment or sport, and he loved to spend time on Arlan’s back as the two of them raced around Blackwall. This had translated well to his sparring lessons. The familiar burn of his muscles as he worked off the pent-up energy, and the satisfaction of physical activity were two feelings he was intimately familiar with.

He rolled his wrist once, feeling the joint loosen up as he stepped in front of Marjorie. He bent his knees slightly and held the sword in a high guard to the right of his body with both hands, ready to slash down and defend himself at a moment’s notice. Sulyard preferred to hold her blade horizontally at shoulder height, with the tip of the blade always pointed at him.

His sessions had begun this way in the short time since his arrival – they would warm up by facing one another, and afterwards, Sulyard would point out his mistakes and give him advice on fixing them. He was rather proud that he never made the same mistake twice – though Harry had yet to land a single hit on his Marshal.

This spoke wonders of her own martial prowess, and it chaffed the competitive side of him. He knew he didn’t have the experience of his instructors, but he had good instincts and quick reflexes.

Sulyard moved first, stabbing at his left shoulder.

He brought his sword down quickly, redirecting the blade away from him, his arms shook from the impact slightly. With the sword knocked back, Harry went on the offence, bringing his sword back up and down in a hard swing, keeping his movements as fluid as he could. He could still remember Kina telling him to let the blade do the work, to direct its weight and to never fight against it – preserve his strength for when he needed it.

Immediately, Sulyard’s blade was there, slapping his own away from her, as she twisted her body around his own. A moment later, he felt a kick on his arse, and he stumbled forward. He turned instantly and held his blade at the ready.

This time, he moved first, taking two measured steps toward the Marshal, hacking with his blade carefully as he probed her defences. Already, he could feel his muscles tiring, and he cursed not being able to practice at Hogwarts – not that he’d even be able to spar against anyone even if he could.

Sulyard backed up slowly before launching herself forward, forcing Harry to quickly move his blade to defend his body. He managed to fend off three swings before he had his feet swept from under him and the tip of her blade pointed at the hollow of his neck.

He groaned as he announced his yield, aware that he’d no doubt be feeling the ache from the fall for at least an hour more. He could help his grin as the Marshal offered him a hand and helped pull him to his feet.

“Better – your timing is improving, but you still take the offense far too much.” The tall woman said, watching him as he swiped the dirt from his clothes.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Aye, my instructor was a firm believer in offensive fighting.”

“That will work in a duel, my Lord, but not in the real world. I take it she taught you in Britain?”

He nodded and moved to the side, where Alan offered him a mug of water he’d conjured with a flick of his wand. Harry smiled his thanks before taking half of it in his mouth and pouring the rest over his head.

“Aye. One of the Vassals of House Black. Lady Kina of House Parren – you’d like her, I think.” Harry chuckled, swiping a hand over his face as the water cooled him somewhat. He passed the mug back with a nod and received a lazy salute from Alan for his trouble, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I take it that swords and other such martial weapons are not common there?” Marjorie asked after a moment.

“No – they’re historical artefacts to most Muggles, and most wizards and witches there use wands over staves. Much easier to blend in with a wand.”

“I see. Very well – again.”

Harry adopted the same stance as he always began with, only this time he went on the offensive and already his muscles felt looser. He stepped up to her, his blade moving in quick, rhythmic hacks and slashes, bouncing off of her blade. He stepped forward with each attack, driving her back as he went – he knew she was allowing it, for even with his two years of practice, he was but a child and she was an experienced adult.

“Good, mind your footwork – press the attack!” Sulyard called, slapping his blade so wide, he was forced to turn with the momentum. With a grunt, he found himself kicked away once again, stumbling into the wooden railing.

His magic flared, and on instinct he ducked to the left, and not a moment later, Sulyard’s sword embedded itself in the log. Harry spun away and held his sword at the ready as he watched Marjorie pull it out with a sharp yank.

He danced around her as she swung at him, her quiet grunts as she swung her sword the only tell-tale sign she was about to attack. He waited for his moment, feeling the blood pumping in his ears. He watched her every twitch and pursed his lips. He batted aside a swing of her blade and ducked under her guard, a grin on his face.

He was about to bring his blade against her thigh when all of a sudden he was staring up at the sky and blinking the stars out of his vision with a groan.

He rubbed at his jaw, wondering what had hit him – and then he saw Sulyard standing above him, her blade once again levelled at his throat. He spat the globule of blood and saliva off to the side before muttering. “Yield.”

He stood and doubled over, resting his hands on his knees for a moment, spitting out a little more blood as he ran his tongue along his teeth, praying that nothing was broken or missing. He could hear the quiet chuckles of his guards at the edge of the enclosure. He narrowed his eyes at them for a moment, but it held no real heat.

“You take too many risks, Lord Potter.” Sulyard said, placing her weapon back amongst the rack.

Harry could only nod – he knew he was more than a little reckless. It gave him a thrill when he was on his broom, and it translated poorly to swordplay. Reckless got you killed. He groaned a little as he stood – he could already feel the bruise forming on his back.

“Did you have to punch me in the face?” He asked with a grunt as he rubbed his jaw. The snickers from his guards a little louder now, but he ignored them. No doubt they had experienced something similar at the hands of the Marshal-At-Arms during their training.

Marjorie smirked and shrugged her shoulders casually. “It is the best way for the lesson to stick, I find. If you wish to avoid repeated injuries, you will lose your penchant for recklessness – it will see you without your head and the end of your House. Is this something you desire?” She asked, her face frowning.

Harry swallowed and shook his head quickly, feeling suitably chastised. He rubbed at his neck absently.

“Good – there may be some hope for you yet. Now, today we work on your defence and will continue to do so until I say otherwise, if that clear?”

He nodded and moved over to the enchanted dummies with his shoulders a little more squared – he’d make sure that he was the best swordsman he possibly could be. He owed it to Marshal Sulyard, the people sworn to him, to his family and most importantly – to Sirius.


	22. Harry XIV

Harry’s laughter echoed away on the wind as it whipped through his hair. He crouched low and leaned forward as he moved his body with the motions of the creature below him. Arlan’s panting breath was almost drowned out by the thundering of his hooves in the green grass.

He had never ridden Arlan as he was now – his destination clear as the treeline approached rapidly. Harry sat back and lightly pulled on the reins as he directed the Stallion to slow and turn. He laughed once more as Arlan broke into another sprint and the two of them tore past both Sirius and Remus.

It was moments like this that reminded Harry why he preferred riding Arlan to riding his broom. There was no give-and-take with a broom in the way there was with riding a creature. He could feel Arlan’s muscles flexing between his legs, the huffing pants as he breathed out – Arlan was a powerful horse, but that meant nothing if Harry couldn’t _work_ with him.

He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw Sirius and Remus not far behind him, both sporting large grins of their own and urging their horses onward.

He turned back to watch where Arlan was racing to and couldn’t help another giddy laugh when he sped past Felix, Brandon and the half-dozen guards that had accompanied them on the ride. The weather had been poor for a few days – the overcast sky making the days dull and grey. Today, the sun had broken through and after his training, he had declared he was to go riding and experience some of his lands.

They had only ridden a few miles of course, and Arpton Keep was still firmly visible atop the cliff with the twin waterfalls on either side of it. It was certainly was an impressive sight from below – its tall, square towers reaching high into the sky almost like the fingers on a hand.

Arlan slowed to a gentle stop and shook his head with a small prance, causing Harry to focus back on his mount. On either side of him, Sirius and Remus came to a stop, both laughing merrily.

“Did you sneak off and pray to _Koris_ while we weren’t looking, pup?” Sirius asked, panting slightly as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“It was all Arlan – I simply told him when to turn around.” Harry grinned, patting the Stallion on his neck, and giving him a little rub. Arlan tossed his head back playfully as he stepped past the two Mares Sirius and Remus were mounted on.

“I think he’s showing off.” Remus chuckled, patting his own mount’s neck.

“Makes sense why Sirius picked him then, doesn’t it?” Harry grinned cheekily as their companions cantered over to them.

Sirius huffed his disagreement and rolled his eyes.

“Excellent riding, my Lord!” Brandon said as they came to a stop just before him. Harry bowed his head slightly before grinning wolfishly.

“I think I could get used to beating Sirius – next time I think I may just add a wager.” He chuckled, swinging his leg over the saddle and dismounted. Their little race had finished close to one of the rivers that cut through the area – courtesy of the waterfalls some three miles behind them – and set about watering his steed.

Behind him, he could hear the others move to do the same – the guards’ armour clanking slightly as they hopped onto the soft grass. Harry, meanwhile, took the opportunity to sit on the bank and watch as a flock of Hippogriffs flew through the air.

On the far side of the river, a herd of wild Aurochs grazed among the grass without a care in the world – their large horns glinting in the sun. He found himself smiling a little as he lazily picked at the grass as Sirius and Remus joined him on either side, while Brandon murmured to the guards behind him.

“If I didn’t know you were happy you just beat us in a race, I’d say you look like you’re brooding.” Sirius began with a wink.

“I was watching the Auroch.” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes, splitting a blade of grass in half absently.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Remus asked after a moment, his eyes also seemingly trained on the wild cows opposite them. “Hunted to extinction in Britain, but here they _thrive_. Magic will never be denied, I suppose.”

“Remind me to have another one slaughtered for Clara.” Harry sighed, thinking briefly on the bird that had barely left the Owlery in the past week and a half. Had it already been half of the trip? There was still so much to do, and it had passed by so quickly.

Clara had remained in the Owlery for the most part, only leaving when the slabs of Auroch meat were delivered to the tower. Harry knew she enjoyed feeding herself, shredding the meat with her talons and beak – and the meat was far too large to carry up the narrow steps up the tower. Not to mention all of the Owls that would no doubt attempt to steal a bite or two.

As a result, it was placed on the floor at the back of the tower, and Harry would call her when it was time to feed. She would appear in a brilliant burst of flame and attack the meat as if it had personally offended her. Afterwards, when she was sufficiently sated – and the meat completely devoured – only then would she hop over to him for an affectionate pat or scratch.

She had been remarkably recluse in the time they had spent at Arpton, and he wondered if a part of it had been caused by delivering a letter to Hermione. He closed his eyes momentarily and reached out to his bond with Clara – he felt joy, contentment and little else. She was at least _happy_ – so probably wasn’t too angry with him.

“Why are you feeding her Auroch meat?” Sirius asked with a frown. “Surely that much of it can’t be good for her – you stuffing her for the next feast?”

Harry snorted and leaned back against the bank, resting on his elbows as he crossed his ankles. “It’s a thanks for something she did for me, that’s all.”

“And what would that be?” Remus asked as he mimicked Harry’s pose on the grass. Harry glanced at him and saw the amused look on his face.

“I never thanked her for getting everyone out – it seemed the best opportunity to do so.” He answered after a moment, ignoring the twinkling in Remus’s eyes as he looked away. Sirius was easy to fool, why was it that Remus would always see right through him?

They were quiet for a time, simply content to look out on the open fields and to enjoy the fresh air. The wind was blowing from the direction of the treeline they had raced to, and the smell of pine tickled his nose. The sound of an approaching rider broke the peace, however.

Harry stood slowly and watched the cloud of dust carefully. It was too far away to make out the colours of the rider, or if there were more than one. He found himself quickly surrounded by his men, though he did flick his wand into his hand and pull his sword from the scabbard on Arlan’s saddle.

All around him, the men and women with them readied their various weapons, magical power pooling into staves and grips tightening on sword hilts, while Harry switched his wand to his left hand and his sword to his right. He’d been practicing duelling with Felix and a number of other guards in duelling – something he had found Marshal Sulyard wasn’t as adept at teaching. She had handled his physical instruction, while Felix managed his magical.

He had learned a number of spells in the short time he had been here – the most important, in his mind, was a spell called _Oblecto_. It was unique in all the spells he had learned since purchasing his wand, in that it wasn’t an incantation – rather, directed intent. It had the ability to deflect physical _and_ magical attacks – it was perfect for when he was using his sword.

It hadn’t taken him long to begin using it in his spars, snapping it into existence as needed, though it was still rather weak. The more he practiced, the stronger it would become – already he had felt it improve by leaps and bounds.

His fingers flexed against the hilt of the sword in his hand, and he shifted his grip on his wand nervously. He felt Sirius and Remus step up on either side of him – Brandon and Felix just behind them. There were four guards in front of them, though they left enough of a gap between them all for him to watch.

Minutes ticked by, and still none of them were any closer to seeing who it was that was riding toward them so quickly. Were they friend or foe? Judging by the nervous shifting from foot to foot, or the slightly adjusted grips on various weapons – most of his guard had staves – it wasn’t just him who felt ill at ease.

“It’s a rider from Arpton!” One of the guards – Morcan Wren, announced with a sigh. They all relaxed a little, though the formation didn’t change. They were all prepared to act on a moment’s notice.

Harry watched as the dust cloud grew closer, and a rider he recognised from Arpton became visible – a woman named Cati Evan. The horse came to a halt a few feet from the group as she looked at them.

“Lord Potter, Osgood and the men have returned – they have a number of the raiders in their custody for you to pass judgement over.”

Harry glanced over at Sirius and nodded his head at the look he was giving him. Immediately, Sirius went about mounting his horse while Harry pointed at two guards and Brandon. “Sirius Black will preside over them – Steward Aves and two of my guard will return with you to see justice carried out.”

Cati nodded and watched as the men mounted their horses in short order. Harry remained where he was, with his sword and wand in hand as he watched Sirius ride back to the keep. As much as Harry wished to fulfil his role as Lord of the Keep, as was proper and right, he knew that Sirius only wanted the best for him.

He blinked a little as Remus placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come Harry – Sirius has this well in hand.”

Harry nodded absently as he returned to the bank and sat back down – his wand returned to its holster on his wrist, while the sword lay in the grass, glinting in the sunlight.

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re _really_ feeding Clara Auroch meat, hm?” Remus murmured, loosening his doublet at the collar at little.

He couldn’t have stopped the sigh that whispered past his lips if he’d tried. “I bribed Clara to deliver a letter for me.”

“You bribed a Phoenix?” Remus chuckled, cocking a brow at him. “And what did it cost you?”

“A new perch – no doubt taller than Hedwig’s, and half a dozen Auroch.” He replied, rolling his eyes, and tugging on a patch of grass absently. “She’s ruthless when it comes to negotiating – Arcturus could probably learn a thing or two from her.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt. I assume then, this letter is why she was so late in arriving at Arpton?”

“Aye – she brought a reply and left it in my room before coming to the courtyard.” He shrugged, tossing the few blades of grass in his hand in the air absently.

“Remarkable creatures, Phoenixes. I assume, from the private nature of the letter, it was from the young Miss Granger?” Remus smiled, leaning back on his elbows, and crossing his ankles as they enjoyed the warm sun.

Harry nodded. “Of all my friends – she’s the one I’ve heard the least from. She’s brilliant, Remus – best in the year, in fact – but you know how Sirius and Arcturus can be; they think Muggles are _quaint_.”

Harry saw Remus wince out of the corner of his eye. “I’m certain that she is what you say she is. Sirius was raised a Pureblood heir to an old family, Harry. Your mother wasn’t just good for your father, but for Sirius also – he just doesn’t know enough. Arcturus is, well, he’s set in his ways.”

“I know, it’s just…” Harry paused and picked at the grass a little more. “I want to bring them here – I want to share this with my friends. I could bring Neville and Daphne, but it wouldn’t be the same without Hermione. And Tracey.”

Remus nodded slowly as Harry spotted an Auroch Calf run playfully around a few of the adults. “One day, you just might be able to. You’re at a difficult point in your life, Harry.”

Harry turned to look at the Marauder next to him, a frown on his face.

“You’re still a child – but you have the responsibilities of an adult. Perhaps there are things we could have done differently over the years, or maybe there aren’t. At the end of the day, you are who you are, and none of us could be prouder – that you’ve surrounded yourself with clever witches just proves you are your father’s son.” Remus grinned with a wink. Harry felt his cheeks burn.

“It’s not like that, and you know it.”

“No – you’re right, of course.” Remus chuckled, and Harry swatted him in the shoulder lightly. The older man glanced over his shoulder and cocked a brow at Felix when he heard the quiet chuckles. “Did you know, Lily never knew she was Lady Potter?”

Harry’s head snapped to Remus. “What did you say?”

“She never knew – James, your father, refused to tell her.”

“Why? Is that why they hid in Godric’s Hollow?” Harry frowned, pursing his lips in thought.

“I have no idea, Harry. I suspect it had something to do with the deaths of your grandparents – your father was never quite the same after. Perhaps, if they had lived, you could have asked them yourself. Sadly, life is never quite that fair.”

“No – it isn’t.” Harry sighed, picking at the grass with a little more fervour.

“I like to think he did it to protect you – and your mother, of course. He was a great man. Flawed, of course, but great.” Remus said after a moment, his eyes staring off into the distance beyond the Auroch.

“Me too.” He whispered, smiling sadly.

“It’s why Sirius was so adamant about you not passing judgement, you know.” Remus added, turning to look at him. “James and Lily’s shoes are quite large – we want you to remain innocent of the world a little longer.”

“But-“

“Is it so terrible to remain a child? To laugh and play?”

“Well, no-“

“You live too much in the shadow of your family legacy, Harry – you’re missing out on _living_.” Remus said, placing a hand on Harry’s back. “You’re only a child once, pup. _Be_ a child.”

They were silent for a time, simply enjoying the peace and quiet. Harry watched as the Auroch grazed quietly. Overhead, a flock of birds danced through the air – their high-pitched song a pleasant change from the comfortable silence.

After a while, Harry pushed himself to his feet and picked his sword up from the grass. “I suppose we had better get back.” He sighed, sliding the weapon into the scabbard on his saddle.

Harry watched as Remus nodded and got to his feet – within moments, all were mounted and looking at him expectantly. He turned back to Arlan, placed his foot in the stirrup and climbed into the saddle.

They walked the horses at a comfortable pace, but as they passed a treeline two miles from the riverbank they had been on, the horses became spooked and nervous. Harry frowned and gripped the reins and held on tight.

“Woah, woah – it’s alright.” Harry murmured, gently stroking Arlan’s neck as he looked into the treeline through a break in the trees. Immediately, his men closed ranks around him, their eyes scanning for danger.

“ _Gods be good_ …” One of his men murmured, gaping at something within the trees.

“ _Merlin_ – me Ma’ told me about them, but I never thought…” Another said.

Harry peered around them curiously before he spotted the group of creatures lazing about in the shade around a grouping of large boulders. They were _huge_ – easily the same size as Arlan was, and their coats were magnificent.

Some were white, some were a smoky grey while a few of the smaller ones were the colour of the night, which only made their yellow eyes even more vibrant.

“I don’t believe it,” Remus muttered, grinning wolfishly. “They’ve been extinct for centuries.”

Harry found his eyes struggling to move from the largest of the creatures, who was currently sprawled on its side and yawning widely as two pups wrestled around it. “What are they?”

“Dyre Wolves, Harry – Dyre Wolves.” Remus grinned, and not for the first time, Harry saw the wolf inside Remus bubble to the surface in the yellow flecks in his eyes.

Harry glanced back at the largest, and for the briefest of moments, it felt as if it were staring back at him. “They’re beautiful.” He whispered, grinning. “Absolutely breath-taking.”

* * *

“You’re mad – you’ve completely lost it.” Harry muttered, looking down at the floor below him. How he’d been roped into something as stupid as this was utterly beyond him, but here he was.

It was two days until they were due to leave Arpton, and coincidentally, the day before his twelfth birthday. Though, as he continued to look down at the courtyard below him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d make it that far.

He glanced over his shoulder at the grinning Felix behind him. It was to be his last magical lesson while they were here. He’d learned so much – a number of combat spells, tricks to throw your opponents off, and not to mention all the martial skills Sulyard had been able to pass on to him.

Despite the year he hadn’t been able to train regularly, he was quicker, stronger and so much better than he had been – he’d even managed to strike Sulyard once!

She’d punched him into the dirt right after, but it counted, damn it.

And now, he was standing atop the roof of the Barracks staring down at the cobblestone of the courtyard and the small crowd that had gathered to watch his imminent demise. He had learned a number of things over the last few days – such as how to use his magic to increase his strength, and how to jump higher and further than otherwise possible. He could move quicker and feel everything around him just that little bit easier.

But this was just _stupid_ – he was going to die!

“You have to trust your magic, my Lord. Use it the same way I’ve taught you and you’ll be fine.” Felix said from behind him.

“That’s all well and good, Felix – but I never managed it on the first attempt for _any_ of the other things!” Harry said through clenched teeth as he swayed from side-to-side in the breeze.

“There’s a first time for everything – besides, you’ll just break your legs at this height.”

Harry shut his eyes and clenched his fists at his side. He could _hear_ the bloody grin. “I _fucking_ hate you.”

“You’ll get over it.” The man chuckled before stepping off the side of the building. Harry watched in horror as he tracked Felix to the floor, expecting to hear the tell-tale snap of the man’s legs and the screams of the on-lookers.

Instead, Felix landed in a low crouch and stood before squinting up at him. Harry began to pace back and forward, muttering to himself.

He took one last glance at the ground before stepping off of the roof. Immediately, he began to plummet to the ground, though it took longer than he thought it would – the wind whistled around him, and time seemed to slow.

He focused inward and reached for his magic, feeling it respond eagerly to his call. He willed it around his feet and legs, wrapping them in layer upon layer of it – he’d let his magic take the impact and protect him.

His feet slammed into the floor, and the world snapped back into motion just before he landed on his arse. He groaned as he rubbed at his tailbone, glaring at Felix as those around him clapped eagerly. “Well done, my Lord.” Felix grinned as he helped him stand slowly.

Harry took the opportunity to dust his arse of the dirt. “You’re still an arse.” He muttered half-heartedly.

Felix laughed loudly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Speaking of, I believe you landed on yours.”

Harry scowled at that, still rubbing his tailbone as the crowd dispersed. “Did you really have to get me to jump off of a building to learn that though?”

“It’s how I learned to do it.” Felix chuckled with a shrug. “Did better than me too – took me a week to learn to do it.”

“So, you kept breaking your legs for a week?” He gasped incredulously, his eyes immediately falling to his guard’s legs and seeing them in-tact.

“Oh aye – this isn’t taught to just everyone, you know. You’ve got to be a Battlemage or a guard to learn it – supposed to give us an edge in combat.”

“How is jumping from a building useful in combat?” Harry asked as Felix began moving to the same training area he used with Sulyard.

“Well, all sorts of things can happen in a fight. Plenty of spells will throw you through the air – best you know how to land properly.” Felix shrugged, glancing over his shoulder as he did.

“That makes sense, I suppose. So, what, you taught me how to do it because you think I’m a Battlemage?” He asked after a moment. He knew the term, of course – but he didn’t think he _was_ one. Although, the idea did fill him with a certain amount of excitement. After all, he knew both Sirius _and_ Arcturus were Battlemages.

Felix was quiet for a moment as he glanced at Harry, his eyes sweeping from top to bottom. “No – I think you’re something else, though it isn’t my place to make that assessment. I’d rather you have the skills to look after yourself when I’m not around.”

“Well, I think with everything you’ve taught me in the last three weeks, you’ve more than handled that.” Harry grinned, hopping over the fence – a moment later, Felix joined him.

“I taught you a few spells – some drastically different from what you would learn at that school of yours. That _doesn’t_ mean you’re invulnerable.”

Harry nodded slowly and flicked his wand into his hand, though before he could say anything else, Felix was upon him and clasped Harry on the side of the head and knelt before him. He liked Felix, he truly did – their relationship was different from the others of his Household – they were closer, friendlier from their shared experience when they met. Felix had seen something in Harry, he had said, and he had wanted only to protect it as best he could for the rest of his life.

What that was, Harry would never know. Each time he had brought it up, Felix would refuse to speak on it and change the topic.

“You have the makings of a great Lord, Harry – truly. If I could, I would guard your back and offer my counsel while you studied at Hogwarts. As it is, I can’t. Sirius and Remus told me what happened this year – you came closer to death than I’m comfortable with.” Felix sighed, briefly glancing at the floor.

Harry had expected Sirius and Remus to mention it to Felix – besides the two of them, it was Felix with whom he had spent the most time with while at Arpton. It made sense. It also meant they both trusted him enough to share the details – though he didn’t know _what_ details they were.

“So, while you’re there, you’ll keep your guard up and remember everything I’ve taught you, hm? Or when you next visit your castle, I’ll ring your head like a bell.”

Harry grinned and couldn’t help but throw his arms around the man. There were few he would permit such familiarity with, but in the nights after the ambush, he had spent many an evening on the balcony with Felix – just the two of them – talking about anything and everything at all. Anything to keep the dreams away.

A friendship had been forged between the two, and while Sirius and Remus were initially wary of the man, Harry had the utmost faith in him. Sometimes it was nice to have an adult to confide in that wasn’t a Black or a member of the Hogwarts staff. Someone that just saw him as Harry – _just Harry_.

He felt Felix pat his back after a moment’s hesitation and they remained that way for a moment. He was glad that the training area was out of the way of the daily goings on in the castle – it afforded him privacy, and, in that moment, he couldn’t be gladder for it.

“Come – we’d best get some practice in. Perhaps you’ll still be on your feet before we’re done.” Felix chuckled, standing after a moment.

Harry rolled his eyes and got into a ready position as Felix erected a silver-white barrier around the area. The first time, he’d been confused as to what it was, though the following explanation had made sense. Nobody wanted to be hit by a stray spell, and the barrier would ensure that.

“Remember – you need to reach me and strike me in the chest for this to be over.” Felix called from the far side. Harry nodded and bounced on his toes a little, feeling the adrenaline flood his system.

Felix’s staff levelled at him, and Harry was off before the first spell shot from the end of it. The entire training area was a large circular space that was eighty feet in diameter. His training with Sulyard used only a small area for their training, Felix had made sure to make use of all of it.

Harry pumped magic into his legs, feeling the world streak by him as he conjured the _Oblecto_ shield with his wand, quickly batting aside a spell before changing direction. He’d learned early on to keep Felix guessing – the direct route always ended with Harry’s arse in the dirt.

Another spell he had been taught by Felix, was the _Reium_ spell. It wasn’t lethal, but it _did_ hurt like nothing else. Like _Oblecto_ , it was all about intent, and therefore silent. He pointed his wand at the man across from him and willed the spell into existence, grinning as the violet sparks the size of his fist erupted from the tip of his wand in a wide cone.

It forced Felix to pause and erect a shield around himself with a quick spin of his staff. The sparks continued on their outward journey for a second before suddenly darting toward the Battlemage with an incredible speed, tracking him all the while. When the last spark struck the shield, Harry was half-way to the man.

When Felix next levelled his staff at him, Harry felt a moment of panic well up inside him at the sight of the smirk on his face. A bolt of yellow magic streaked toward the floor just in front of his feet, and Harry barely had the chance to push more magic into his legs and leap over it as he conjured the shield once again as he slapped another spell away mid-air.

Harry landed with a roll, firing a low-powered _Diffindo_ at him as he did – that had been something he wished he knew before facing Quirrell. He’d had no idea it was possible to over-power a spell. Felix had shown just how useful such a spell was, and the poor training dummy had been left in pieces in a matter of moments. Unlike the other two spells however, Harry still had to say the incantation out loud.

“ _Diffindo_! _Diffindo_! _Immobulus_!” Harry called, darting from side to side as more spells struck the dirt around him. He grimaced as he watched Felix bat each of them away as if they were nothing. He was just about to try a _Reducto_ at his feet when a cerulean bolt struck his chest and launched him through the air.

He landed in a heap, gasping for breath in wheezes. The clouds above him spun chaotically and were out of focus. After a moment, he saw Felix step into his vision, grinning down at him.

“What in the _Gods_ was that?” Harry moaned, clutching his chest.

“Just a little stunning spell. If you’d been more focused on what came _after_ your spells, you might not have ended up in the dirt.” The man laughed, reaching down and lifting Harry to his feet.

“You enjoy this far too much.” Harry moaned, doubling over and spitting the dirt out of his mouth.

“I do – I haven’t had this much fun in years.” Felix chuckled, slapping him on the back lightly. “Now, again?”

“Again.”

* * *

There were two entrances to the crypts. There was the entrance by the garden, and there was another just off from the courtyard on the western side, flanked by two wolf gargoyles standing in their silent vigil.

It was through this second entrance that he stepped through, gently sliding his hand between the ears of the gargoyle on the right as he opened the door. The door, as with all others in the castle, was well-maintained and opened on silent hinges.

Just inside the stone entryway were a number of sconces, though only one had the pale blue flickering flame of _Magefyre_. He pulled one of the empty ones from its socket on the wall, shifting his grip on the large metal handle before dipping it toward the flickering flame.

The original didn’t dim any, but it did share itself with the now empty sconce, giving Harry a source of light as he looked at the staircase before him with a heavy heart. It never got any easier.

It was early morning, and the air was still cold and damp, and so he was dressed in in his usual doublet with his cloak draped over his shoulders, the wolf pelt ticking his cheeks as he pulled it tighter around him.

The flickering blue flame illuminated the small passaged way as the staircase wound further down into the bowels of the cliff, the dark rock slick with the early morning damp.

His boots scuffed the flagstone steps as he travelled down, his breath fogging before his face and tickling his nose. Above him, he thought he could hear the first sounds of the day coming from the courtyard – the ringing of the anvil, the calls of those going about their business.

Today was going to be a hectic day for all in the castle – today marked the end of the three week visit to Arpton Keep, and later on, Harry would return to Blackwall Manor with Sirius and Remus. Where had the time gone? It had felt like he’d blinked and he’d missed it.

He was thankful, though. He had learned more in the last three weeks than he had over an entire year at Hogwarts – though that was likely due to the gruelling regime he’d been put through. If he wasn’t practising with his sword, he was practising with his wand and magic – Sirius and Brandon had seen to his duties, both more than happy to allow him his freedom for now.

He knew, as he got older, he wouldn’t be able to train and practice like he had done, and a part of him felt guilty over it. Was it not his duty to run the castle while he was here? Was it not his privilege to care for those under his protection? To a degree, he felt he was cheating them.

Here he was, spending three weeks doing nothing but playing with a sword and magic, while Sirius and Brandon were swamped in petitions, running the castle and managing the lands. He was glad though, that Sirius had dealt with the raiders on his behalf. He knew, by their laws, any survivors of that band of criminals would be sentenced to death, and Harry, despite his bravado to Sirius and Brandon, had no desire to take a life. He still felt sick to his stomach over the incident with the Troll.

Harry came to the first chamber – the uppermost floor that was available to all denizens of the castle. It was the hall of the honoured dead, the wands of each Lord and Lady Potter atop small marble pillars with plush, velvet cushions. They were all arranged the same, with the wands crossed over one another – symbolising the everlasting bond between their owners.

He stepped over the threshold and smiled a little as the sconces of _Magefyre_ lit up as one, almost as if the room itself recognised the visitor. He closed his eyes as the Potter Family Magic swept over him, leaving his skin covered in goosebumps and his breath shaky.

He opened his eyes slowly and swept his gaze along the rows of alcoves the pillars were in. He was here for one in particular. It had become a ritual, of sorts, to look at the wands before delving further into the crypt.

The pair of wands were where he had placed them himself. His father’s, the eleven-inch, mahogany with a Thunderbird feather core. His mother’s, willow, ten-and-a-quarter inch with a Griffin feather core. Both were sat just as he remembered them – though it had only been three weeks since his last visit.

Both looked immaculate and pristine – not a mark to betray the violent deaths their two owners had suffered. He sighed as he glanced up at the wall behind the pillar, smiling a little at the photograph of his parents in a park, dancing and laughing in their endless loop.

He felt his mouth split into a grin – the same grin he knew he’d inherited from James Potter. They both looked so young. His mother, in her dark coat and hat, with her red hair dancing in the wind as his father spun her about while she grinned. His father, with his wild hair and his Gryffindor scarf around his neck.

It was a sobering thought, that in only a decade, he would be older than either of his parents had been.

He took in another deep breath and turned from the plinth and began his journey further into the crypt. To go lower, one had to open a mahogany door, and then traverse the spiral staircase into the bowels of the cliff.

He had walked this route many times before – sometimes alone, other times with Sirius or Remus, though both had said they felt unwelcome in the bowels of the Potter Crypts. Yet, to Harry, it brought a sense of calm and a peace he couldn’t find anywhere else.

He stepped off the stairs at the familiar landing and shouldered open the heavy door, and once again, the room burst into light. The familiar blue lights of the _Magefyre_ lit the stone effigies up in their dim light, just enough to make out the features.

From having entered the crypts from this side, Harry had entered on the far side to his parents, as their tomb was the closest to the garden entrance, between the tomb of his grandparents and where his own would one day rest.

It was a rather morbid job, he thought – having to prepare your own tomb. He knew that his likeness wouldn’t be taken for many more years yet – no doubt until he was of a similar age, or even older, than his parents, but to see the place where he would be entombed forever? It made everything feel remarkably final.

He walked among the many statues in their alcoves, some holding weapons in their stone hands, or with their familiars by their feet. Others just standing or sitting staring blankly ahead – it was these that he always tried to hurry past if he could.

He made it to the effigies of his parents, both frozen in time from the dancing picture from the hall above. He placed the torch, with its flickering blue flame into the sconce on the wall beside the recess. At his parents’ feet, running along the base of the statue were a number of yellow candles – he’d brought them down when he’d visited at the start of their stay.

It was a strange sort of habit he’d developed, lighting the candles before he’d leave. He supposed a small part of him imagined that as long as the flame remained, he was still there with them, that there was some small link between the living and the dead. It was stupid, he knew that, but it still made the nights easier when they returned to Blackwall each time.

Harry pulled the cloak around him a little tighter as he stood looking up at the statues. They were twice the size of him, and he couldn’t help but smile a little as he gazed upon their stone faces.

What would they say to him, if they were with him? It seemed, the longer time went on, the less his assumptions about his parents were true – was that not the case with his mother? He had assumed she had always known, but Remus had told him otherwise. He had thought his father was the proud Lord Potter, but he’d stopped coming to Arpton _years_ before his death.

He frowned a little and shifted from foot to foot. What did that matter to him? They were his parents, and for the year and a half they had been with him, they had loved him unconditionally. He had lived, while they had not. They had given their lives to protect him – _him_.

Would it be nice to feel his mother’s fingers run through his hair, to feel her kisses on his brow and her soft, encouraging words? Of course. Did he wish each night that he could hear her tell him how much she loved him? That went without saying. Most of all though, he wished for the comfort he saw the other children got when he’d disembarked from the Hogwarts Express.

He’d seen children, from his fellow first years, to the graduating seventh years, rush to their parents, their mothers sweeping them into their arms, placing gentle kisses over their faces and whispering soft words to them as they checked them over. There were few who knew the absence of a mother, and those that did – they didn’t want to talk about it.

Neville was the only one he could confide in – the two of them sharing a bond that went beyond friendship. They were brothers, and as such, their bond was stronger for it. Never would the other suffer in silence, though there were some things that not even brothers could compare to.

A huff of air shot from his nose as he felt his jaw flex involuntarily. He’d been off balance for a long time now – the year at Hogwarts having done more to shake him than he’d readily admit. The Troll had been the first, but the _Mirror of Erised_ …

He’d recognised the magic as something similar to Arpton, so at least he knew of the origins – but to have shown him everything he _could_ have had, only for it to have been taken away so suddenly. In the months leading to the confrontation with Quirrell, he’d found himself yearning for it, desperate for the relief of slipping back into that dream-like state. He’d fought it with everything he’d had – but who could blame him for what he’d seen?

He’d wanted to hate Hermione that first night when she’d pulled him out of it. He’d lain in bed, his entire body trembling with the need to visit the mirror. If it hadn’t been for Clara, and her tears, he’d have been unable to get any sleep, so violent was the raw _need_. Despite the soothing balm the tears had provided, he’d felt guilty beyond compare at how exhausted it had made his Phoenix.

He had learned that night, that Phoenix tears utterly exhausted the creatures – particularly if used for healing. There was a reason they were so rare, of course – he’d just never considered it. Seeing her laying on his chest, curled into herself as best she could, with her small chest barely rising and falling had terrified him.

And so, his anger at his bushy-haired friend had evaporated in a single instant, replaced with immediate concern for his companion. He gathered her into his arms, propped himself up as best he could, and held her the whole night. When he’d awoken the following morning to her nudging his cheek, and she had looked like she was back to normal. Taking her down to breakfast in the Great Hall was the least he could have done.

He’d felt his anger rise back up at seeing Hermione, though that had vanished the second she had looked at him. There was something about seeing the smile on his friend’s face, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes and the way her nose would scrunch up a little that utterly disarmed him. It was similar to how he couldn’t ever stay angry with Neville, or with Daphne – but with _Hermione_ …

He sighed, glancing at his father’s face. It looked so similar to what he had seen in the mirror, and yet, so different. There weren’t the lines of age, or the stress of fatherhood on his face – instead, it was youthful and carefree. He was always told how he looked just like his father, but for his mother’s eyes – would he one day look the same way?

He hoped so.

His wand jumped into his hand with a flick of his wrist, the thin piece of Blackthorn wood almost seemingly drinking in the light of the _Magefyre_ , while the Vinewood handle looked like bone against it. Like his father’s, it was eleven-inches – something he could share with the man. “ _Inflamari_.” Harry whispered; his voice far hoarser than he’d expected.

He moved the wand steadily over the candles, the small flames springing to life on each wick. There were twenty-one in total – one for each year they were alive. He breathed in a little deeper then, the action of having lit the candles lifting his melancholy a little.

He stowed his wand away, feeling the slight up-turn of his lips as he wondered what his parents would say to everything that had happened over the course of the year. First, the Troll – then the mirror, and finally Voldemort and Quirrell.

Would they have demanded he learn magic elsewhere? After all, even he knew that the security of Hogwarts had been… underwhelming. He loved it there, he truly did – but who chose a _school_ to hide a priceless gemstone? It baffled him, but then, there were far more experienced and knowledgeable wizards and witches than he.

He liked to think they would have been far prouder of him than worried. After all, he was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a Century, and he’d even caught the Snitch! Even now, as he closed his eyes, he could hear the roaring of the stands all around him.

Or, would they be prouder of the friends he had made? Harry was not a social person, he thought. He liked his friends few but oh so dear. He was polite, and would hold a conversation with anyone willing, but many didn’t see him as _Harry_. They saw him as a footnote in history, and a way of pushing headlines.

He’d gone to Hogwarts with only two friends – Neville and Daphne, but had left with two more in Hermione and Tracey. Hermione, he thought, would have been adored by his mother – and her having set Snape on fire would have immediately had his father singing her praises. Tracey, it was harder to say. He liked to think his mother would appreciate her natural curiosity, and of all of his friends, Tracey was the most mischievous – something his Marauder father would enjoy immensely.

His eyes traced the soft smiles on his parent’s stone faces. One day, he’d find a way of introducing his friends to his parents – as morbid as it likely was. He _wanted_ to share them with one another.

Soft footfalls echoed through the chamber – Harry knew who it was, but he made no effort to move.

The soft blue glow greeted him first, and he found his head turning to greet the man before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to leave yet – he needed to stay with them a bit longer. The soft smile on Sirius’s face made him huff out a petulant breath.

“Thought I’d find you here, Prongslet.” Sirius smiled, coming to a stop at his left shoulder as he held the torch up in his left hand – his right wrapped around Harry’s shoulders.

“I’m where I’m supposed to be.” Harry murmured, leaning into the embrace – his whispered reply sounding impossibly loud to his ears in the quiet of the crypt.

“Not for another century, at least. I’ll make sure you have to suffer through old age, even if I have to drag you there kicking and screaming.”

“Want someone to share it with, do you?”

“You’re lucky you know I wouldn’t make you eat those words in front of your parents.” Sirius huffed – squeezing Harry despite his pout.

“Whatever helps keep your pride intact. Wouldn’t want you going before the altar having had your arse kicked by a child – what would Amelia say?” Harry snickered, his shoulders trembling as he tried to hold in his amusement.

“ _Gods preserve me_ , you’re definitely James’s son.” Sirius sighed, removing his hand to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. Harry elbowed him in the side gently, rolling his eyes.

“Is it already time to leave?” He asked after a moment, glancing up at the statues once again. “I don’t want to.”

“I know, but we have to. We’ll return soon, I promise.” Sirius replied, squeezing his shoulder again. Harry glanced over at him and noticed how his eyes were locked on James’s face.

“I think he’d be proud of you, you know?” Harry said after a moment, causing Sirius to blink as he snapped back to reality. “My father – I like to think he’d be proud of the men you and Moony became. Mother would still set you on fire, I think.”

There was a beat of silence as Harry watched Sirius process the words before barking out a laugh. “Moony told you that one, did he?”

“When I was six.” Harry grinned before bending and picking up the sconce he’d brought with him.

“Remind me to kick his arse.” Sirius muttered. Harry rolled his eyes as he moved to follow Sirius out of the room.

“We both know he’d win.” Harry sighed happily, “I remember you specifically telling me it was only Prongs that could get the better of him.”

“And here I thought you were asleep when I told you that.”

Harry paused at the doorway, turning back to look at the statues of his parents and the faint orange glow in the room as the _Magefyre_ died down. From the door, it was impossible to see any but the closest of the statues, but the haze was enough for the general direction.

It felt odd, leaving them down here in the dark. Who would keep them company – tell them of the things he’d done? Absently, he noted that Sirius’s steps had stopped.

“I’m going to miss them.” Harry whispered, his bottom lip trembling. Leaving never got any easier.

“They’ll miss you too, pup.” Sirius answered him, just as softly as a comforting hand squeezed Harry’s shoulder and drew him in close. “But it does no good to linger amongst the dead – lest you forget to live. They’d want you to live, Harry.”

He nodded slowly, and pulled the heavy door shut, giving it a final yank to squeeze it into the stone doorframe. The noise echoed up and down the stone stairwell for a few seconds before the two of them turned to begin their ascent to the surface.

The walk was silent, though they both paused briefly to return the _Magefyre_ torches to their brackets, and when Sirius stepped out into the daylight, Harry’s breath caught in his throat. There, crowding every available space between the doorway and the main doors to the keep, was his entire household – all looking on at him with varying expressions of sadness. Some were silent, while others wept openly.

“What’s this?” He found himself asking as he looked around. He found his attention pulled to Felix and Brandon as they stepped forward from the crowd.

“We wished to say our goodbye’s, my Lord. Many of us have become fond of having you here, and it pains us to see you leave – even if it is only temporary.” Brandon answered, his own face sad, though he did offer a weak smile.

Harry was at a loss for words as he looked around at the sea of faces as they peered at him. “I-“, he began, only for his voice to crack and force him to clear his throat. “I appreciate it – truly, I do. It means more than I can rightly put into words.”

“We know, Lord Potter.” Felix smiled, bowing a little. “Just know we look forward to your return.”

As if by some silent command, the crowd parted before the two of them, and they both walked towards the keep – a solemn silence draped over the castle. The household left them at the doors to the keep, and after traversing their way down to the _Ro’rim_ , they came across Remus and Arlan – who was saddled and had their saddle bags draped over his back.

“Are you ready, Harry?” Remus asked with a sad smile – the regret on his face clear to see.

“Not really, but we should probably get going, I suppose.” Harry sighed, stepping around the horse and man as he reached for his Family Magic, feeling a familiar tingle run through his body – though he was thankful he hadn’t experienced the mist from his eyes again.

He placed his hand on the frame of the mirror and barely flinched as it sprang to life. Like always, the sooner he left, the easier it would become – it was like taking a vile potion to overcome an illness. It was better to pinch your nose and tip your head back than sip at it. He sighed and nodded to the two adults with him as he stepped through the shimmering surface.

* * *

They arrived back at Blackwall with little hassle, though the resounding dual cracks of Sirius and Remus’s Apparition startled a number of birds. Remus immediately moved towards the stables with Arlan following just behind him, the clip-clop of his steps gradually fading away as the two disappeared around the corner of the building.

Sirius turned to look at Harry, a small smile on his face. “You did well today, Harry – I know I say this every time we come home, but I really am very proud of you.”

“I know.” He replied softly. He looked up momentarily to see Clara soaring through the air above the estate – he’d gotten her to return the day before. Why force her to return among all the chaos and pandemonium when she could return in peace and just make herself scarce for an hour or two while they got settled?

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder gently before opening the front door. “The Elves will probably be helping-“ Sirius began, only to come to a dead stop as the words died on the tip of his tongue.

Harry, likewise, came to a stunned halt. He knew Arcturus was in Europe for a few days currently, overseeing a number of business matters for House Black, but he’d never expected the house to fall into such disrepair in so short a time.

All over the walls, there were various scorch marks – entire chunks of the wooden floor were missing, and there was even a hole in the ceiling. Immediately, the two of them had their wands in their hands as they looked about the entrance foyer – even the portraits were empty.

“What the-“ Harry muttered under his breath.

The soft thuds of running feet and muffled sounds behind one of the doors had them both pointing their wands at the door. Harry fidgeted a little and narrowed his eyes as the sounds got closer.

The door swung open with a crash, and both he and Sirius drew in sharp breaths to begin their casting, but the sight that greeted them stunned them both more than any spell could have.

A small House Elf in a tatty pillowcase sprinted through the door in pure fear, quickly followed by the House Black Elves, each one with some form of homemade weapon in hand. Lispy was the closest to the intruder and threw herself at the helpless Elf, who’s large green eyes were wide in fear.

Harry watched as Lispy landed on top of the intruder and clambered atop his shoulders – for it was definitely a male Elf – and began whacking him on the head with an iron saucepan from the kitchen. The other elves soon caught up and likewise threw themselves at him.

To his right, Sirius visibly shook himself. “ _What_ is going on here?” He demanded, his voice brimming with power.

The Elves all stopped and turned to look at the two of them in genuine surprise as they all collectively blinked – though Lispy, after a moment of silence, decided to get one last hit in on the Elf.

“Master Black, Master Potter – wes be catching a sneaksy Elf!” Woopy cried, looking between the two of them and the Elf in the pillowcase.

“Care to explain why you’ve intruded into our home?” Sirius growled, levelling his wand at the Elf. The Elf’s eyes had remained glued to Harry, and slowly, he lowered himself to his knees – ignoring the protests of Lispy atop his shoulders.

“Harry Potter!” The Elf murmured in a high-pitched voice. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you… Such an honour it is.”

“Thank you – now, why did you break into Blackwall?” Harry repeated, narrowing his gaze at the Elf.

“Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter – to _warn_ him! _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwartsies_!”


	23. Harry XV

It had been a week since that odd House Elf – Dobby – had warned him against returning to Hogwarts. He still remembered standing there in the entrance to Blackwall in shock as Dobby warned of terrible things, while not really saying much of anything.

Dobby had looked pained throughout it all – though how much of that was from Lispy’s occasional whacks with her saucepan, and how much was the bond he shared with his family was anyone’s guess.

Despite his warning, Dobby had essentially told them nothing. When asked what the threat to his person was, he would clam up and try to hit himself with any nearby object – it had startled him at first, though he’d quickly seen to the end of that, ordering the Black Elves to restrain the Elf.

It had taken time, but the little Elf had eventually been calmed, but yet no further information came forward. They had been forced to make a note of the warning, but without more to go on, they had decided to allow events to play out – what else could they do, after all?

The Elf had left, though not without delivering his warning once more, with a quiet pop, and the Black Elves had thrown themselves at fixing the house. In no time at all, Blackwall was back to its previous appearance, just in time for Arcturus’s return.

That evening had been a tense affair, the warning still fresh in everyone’s mind – Remus had arrived half-way through the fuss with Dobby, and they’d told Arcturus the second he’d returned to Blackwall. To say that the adults in Harry’s life were vexed would have been a gross understatement – in fact, it had reminded him of when he’d regaled them the tale of Quirrell at the end of the year.

Sirius had wanted to pull him from Hogwarts immediately, and it had been one of the few times he had argued with his Godfather. Immediately, all he could think about was the time he would lose with his friends and the lost connection to his parents. Their argument had been loud, and more than a few ancient looking pieces of pottery had exploded when his magic had slipped from his control – such was his panic and his anger at the very _thought_ of leaving the school.

While he enjoyed the professors and the content of the lessons, it was his friends that he most cared for there. He couldn’t imagine not sitting in the Great Hall each morning and not eating breakfast with Neville and Hermione – or pulling faces at Daphne and Tracey when he caught their eye. The thought of not sitting in his little corner in the Common Room, with a thick book on the table before him while Neville and Hermione read their own in companionable silence – or even not seeing Hagrid’s face light up when Clara arrived at _Care of Familiars_.

For saying that he’d only attended Hogwarts for a year, it had very quickly become a place very dear to his heart, and he couldn’t wait to spend the next six years of his life there and learn all he could. Where else would he get the same education? America? Only four schools jumped out at him – Ilvermorny, Salem, Sunset Rock, and Fort Griffin – all were so far away, he’d lose touch with all of his friends. Europe? There were so many notable schools on the continent, each of them with such varied names and reputations – he couldn’t imagine himself attending Instytut Iloxiths in Poland, or Instituto Fortaleza in Spain.

No – he would be dragged kicking and screaming from Hogwarts.

Sirius had pouted and scowled all through that evening, glaring at the meal before him as if it had personally offended his ancestors. Arcturus had been far more understanding, though his rage had been just as fierce.

As far as Harry was concerned, he was a child of House Black – and he knew Arcturus considered him a grandchild in his own right. None threatened a member of Arcturus’s family. Instead of making inane demands, however, the head of the family had simply sat in his usual seat and quietly stewed over the warning, no doubt going over every variable he could think of.

Remus had played the Devil’s Advocate, pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of both sides of the argument – though for the most part, he had simply tried to calm Sirius down. They had all discussed the warning well into the night, and over the following days, they all calmed somewhat.

Arcturus announcing that Harry would remain at the school had given him such joy, that he had been up and launching himself at Arcturus before he could stop himself. The usually stoic and aloof Patriarch had, in a moment of amusement, allowed his mask to temporarily be set aside as he knelt and returned Harry’s hug just as fiercely.

He had, of course, made Harry promise to be careful and to take his armour with him – just in case. It was, after all, Arcturus who had insisted that they all wore armour in public since the closing of the War – it made sense he would ask Harry to take it with him come September.

In total, it had been a week since their return to Blackwall, and Harry had spent the time triple-checking his summer assignments, celebrating his exam results, riding Arlan and practicing what he’d learned at Arpton – he’d even showed off for Arcturus once or twice, and nothing could stop the swell of his chest at the proud smile on the man’s face.

His assignments had gone well, and Harry found himself changing the occasional paragraph based on little bits of information he’d learned while at Arpton. The biggest example for this had been the _Charms_ essay Professor Flitwick had assigned them – _Charms and an exploration of everyday uses_. He had learned so much from just watching the people of Arpton going about their business – like how the Blacksmith, Aron Cattell, used charmed hammers on some of his pieces, depending on if he needed an extra pair of hands – or even how the carts would unload themselves. He’d also made sure to word it in such a way that it couldn’t be linked to Arpton, of course.

He’d had Remus check his changes over, of course, and after a further few alterations – mostly drawing examples to a modern home and even making a passing reference to Elf magic, he’d deemed it acceptable.

After that, he’d had his exam results delivered. He’d been proud to see so many O’s on the parchment – though he hadn’t been able to hide his annoyance at seeing the three A’s in _Potions_ , _Astronomy_ and _History_ _of_ _Magic_. Sirius, ever the proud parent, had forgotten his annoyance for the time being, and had loudly celebrated Harry’s achievement – often remarking his intelligence was definitely down to Lily, rather than James.

Arlan was more than happy to race about the estate in exchange for a bag of oats – Harry realised that the animals in his life, more often than not, required bribes to do thing that other animals just _did_. Clara, in exchange for delivering a letter, required Auroch meat and a new perch. Hedwig had a weakness for bacon – the crispier the better, and Arlan was a sucker for hulled oats. Though, if Harry were honest with himself, he couldn’t help but think the Stallion had been spoiled rotten by Arpton’s Stablemaster.

During all of this, of course, he’d spent time with Hedwig and Clara – the two birds, for once, sharing his attention calmly. Though, as he’d eyed Clara on her perch, he couldn’t help but think it was the thought of her new perch that was keeping her well behaved.

He’d flown with the two of them, using his Nimbus to join them in their playful flight – something he couldn’t help but wonder if Clara had missed during their tenure at the castle. He’d resolved to make a point of spending time at the Quidditch Pitch with the Phoenix during the next year. When Harry had approached the Snowy Owl with a stack of letters, the bird had hopped up and down excitedly and held her foot out. With a laugh, he had told her who to deliver the letters to, and she had been off not a moment later.

It had taken a little over a day for her to return with replies, and Harry had revelled in each and every one.

Tracey’s letter had been the first he had opened – she’d spent the last three weeks visiting Muggle and Magical Zoos around Britain, marvelling at all of the animals. She’d then gone on to say how it hurt to see them all locked up, even if it _was_ for the visitors’ safety, as well as the animals. Her favourite creature, by far, had been the Dragon housed in the _Welsh National Zoo_ a few miles outside of Cardiff. Apparently, it was two-hundred-and-sixty-three years old and was _huge_ – it only being manageable for the zoo because of a shredded wing-membrane. Harry felt terrible for the Dragon at that. How must it feel, to be _born_ to fly, only to know you’d never be able to soar again?

Daphne’s letter had followed Tracey’s. Apparently, she had been driven beyond madness by her younger sister, Astoria, and her excitement for the Black wedding on the thirteenth. The thought of Astoria bouncing off the walls in excitement was more than enough to get him chuckling. He simply couldn’t wait for the girl to join them at Hogwarts next year. According to Daphne’s letter, Astoria had caused even _more_ mayhem by imprinting on a young fox but the letter neglected to explain any further.

Neville, as always, had spent the time in his Greenhouses, managing his collection. He had even added a number of new specimens to his collection, including a _Venomous Tentacular_ which attempted to kill anything around it. There were days when he seriously questioned Neville’s mental faculties – who’d want a plant that could kill you because you like the fact it smells like lemon? Neville had also written to tell him how excited he was that he’d found some of the original foundations of Long Valley Keep, but he didn’t say what he’d found.

Hermione’s letter had been the last one, telling him of the last week of her trip to Barcelona and how she’d visited the Magical District there and been utterly enthralled at the products available. She had gone on to mention once again how thankful she was at being able to attend Sirius’s wedding, and had made sure to check he had done all of his homework. She’d gloated briefly that she’d scored straight O’s except for _Potions_ – he’d rolled his eyes at that.

The week after their return to Blackwall had passed quickly and led Harry to his current quandary – trying to weasel his way out of meeting with House Weasley. As it was, both Sirius and he were walking up a lane toward a large Estate House near Farway – it was hidden the trees in a small woodland, invisible to the naked eye unless one knew where to look.

On either side of the lane, tall English Oaks lined the path, their thick, arching canopies providing the blissful shade he yearned for in his leather gambeson. The metal gorget around his neck felt hot to the touch, even though they’d only been in the sun for a matter of minutes – even the sword on his hip was hot.

“Relax – you’re making me nervous.” Sirius chuckled, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled as his foot caught a large stone and kicked it a few metres ahead by accident making him wince.

“You remind me of myself when Arcturus brought my father and I along to a business meeting when I was young.” Sirius smiled, breathing deeply. “I think I’d have just met your father by then.”

“Did he ever do anything like this?” Harry asked, resting his left hand on the pommel of the blade as they walked. As they stepped into a small section of the path that lacked any shade, he was suddenly thankful he hadn’t been stupid enough to wear his cloak in the middle of August.

Harry felt the familiar tingle across his skin as they passed the Wards and he couldn’t suppress the light shiver that ran up his spine. Wards always felt different, no matter where one went. At Blackwall, the Wards were fierce and imposing. Long Valley Keep, they were cold enough to make your teeth chatter, and the Greengrass family had Wards that felt like the build-up to a storm. _Merlin_ , even Hogwarts had its own particular feel – ancient and reliable – they instantly made one feel safe, which was the complete opposite of Rosestone, which felt _dangerous_. Always there, prowling in the back of your mind, waiting and watching.

The Weasley Wards, in comparison, to all others he’d experienced over the years, felt like it was some odd sort of patchwork barrier. He closed his eyes briefly and allowed his magic to skim the Wards – a gentle caress, really – and marvelled at just how _shoddy_ it felt. The Wards of The Den, the name of the ancestral seat of House Weasley, seemed completely at odds with itself and felt unbelievably _weak_.

“Once or twice, I’m sure – not so much in his later years.” Sirius shrugged when Harry turned to look at him. “The war was escalating – less opportunities to sit down and lay out business plans.”

“I’ll bet.” Harry snorted, eying Sirius’s smirk.

The two continued up the path, and the house became more and more noticeable. Upon closer inspection, many of the threadbare curtains on the large, dirty windows were drawn shut and looked positively ancient. The outer walls were covered in thick ivy, and the once white paint was stained with greens and browns.

This was the Weasley home? He knew they were barely holding onto their title, but to actually _see_ it was something else entirely. How long had they been in such a poor way?

The gravel beneath their boots crunched and shifted as they made their way to the front door, which opened to reveal Thomas Weasley – his thinning red hair wild and the slight swell of his belly pushing the robes at his stomach out just slightly. Harry had seen the man at the July session of the Wizengamot and had thought him a little disappointing, and, upon experiencing the man up close, nearly had him wrinkling his nose.

He was older than he’d thought – perhaps of an age similar to Arcturus. His features showed some of the handsome man he had

“Heir Black, Lord Potter – welcome to The Den!” Thomas greeted them, bowing a little at the waist with a jovial smile. Harry and Sirius bowed in response, as was custom. “Come inside and we’ll see to Guest Right and get down to business, shall we?”

Harry glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye and relaxed slightly as he saw the reassuring nod. The two of them followed Thomas Weasley through the door, though Harry lagged a step behind Sirius as his eyes scanned the entrance foyer.

The foyer was dark, and many pieces of furniture were covered with white sheets. Portraits of dozens of red-haired Weasley ancestors looked down upon him as they whispered amongst themselves curiously. The small clatter of a tray drew his gaze to Lord Weasley, who was busy placing a few chunks of bread and a pot of honey on it. The man turned with a small smile and offered them both a small smile.

Sirius took the first chunk, dipping it generously in the golden honey before tossing it into his mouth. Harry followed, an absent part of his mind noting that they’d been offered a seeded bread. He dipped the chunk into the honey and found his mouth already watering at the sight of the sweet nectar.

The bread was fresh, still fresh from the oven, and the honey gave him that joy that could only be found in sweet foods. He chewed slowly, savouring the flavour as he watched Thomas partake. Guest Right was a sacred rite, of course, and had to be done properly – it was the next part he wasn’t particularly looking forward to.

Still chewing, Thomas spun on his heel and hurried back to the small table where he deposited the tray gently while sweeping up a large goblet. With a grimace, Harry watched as Thomas took a quick pull and swallowed quickly before offering it to Sirius. Who, like the Weasley Lord, swallowed a mouthful of the liquid before passing it on to Harry.

Harry tried to keep his face impassive as the wine touched his tongue, but he couldn’t help his facial muscles scrunching up on reflex – how anyone enjoyed wine, even the sweet, obviously homemade, applejack he’d just swallowed, was utterly beyond him.

Both Lord Weasley and Sirius chuckled at his reaction as he handed the goblet back to their host. Harry had been through the exchanging of Guest Right a number of times over the years – most notably the first times he’d visited Neville and Daphne in their own homes.

With the goblet placed back on the small table, Harry and Sirius followed the Lord through his unusually quiet house and into one of the rooms off to the side of the foyer, to a small family room with a trio of comfortable looking chairs around a small table.

Thomas sat first, letting out a small sigh as he gestured for the two of them to take their own seats with a polite smile. “Now, My Lords, I confess I was rather surprised when I received a request for a meeting with not just House Black, but House Potter also.” Thomas began, looking between the two of them.

“We understand that House Weasley generates most of its income from farming and foodstuffs, correct?” Sirius began, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a folded piece of parchment.

“That is correct, aye.” Thomas answered slowly. “Though the harvests for the last few generations have been abysmal.”

“We’re aware, Lord Weasley. I assume you’re aware of the large debts owed to both of our Houses?”

Harry watched as Thomas blinked before sitting up a little straighter in his chair, his throat bobbing ever so slightly as he attempted to formulate words. “I was, though I’d hoped-“

“You hoped _what_ , exactly? Surely you didn’t think we would ignore the sums of money owed our Houses?” Sirius interrupted as he crossed his legs casually. Harry, despite his silence, found himself fidgeting in his seat slightly as his fingers lightly drew light patterns on the arm of his chair.

“No, of course not My Lord – I would never!” Lord Weasley said quickly as he leaned forward, his face flushing. “But I am in an unfortunate position, my Lords – I cannot give you what I do not have. House Weasley is falling each year, and I don’t know if I can stop it.”

“Have you gone to the Goblins?” Sirius asked, while Harry darted his eyes back and forth between the two men at the table.

“Many times, but if I were to begin liquidising assets, House Weasley would have nothing – lands, titles, standing, finances – it would all be gone.” Thomas sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily.

The three were quiet for a time, Harry and Sirius watching Thomas worry at his forehead as he muttered under his breath. Harry took the time to glance around the room, noting the faded materials and the threadbare carpet beneath his boots. Even the chair he was sat in squeaked with every movement he made.

“My Lord,” Harry began after a moment, his eyes continuing to dart around the room. “Where is your family? I’d have expected your Heir to be with us.”

Thomas snorted and leaned back in his chair as he slowly rubbed a finger in the corner of his eye. “I have no wife and children, Lord Potter. My younger brother, Arthur, is my heir. My family were killed along with my other brother, Jack, in the last war.”

“I’m sorry, I-“ Harry began as his eyes widened, realising his blunder.

Thomas waved him off with a quiet chuckle. “No harm done, Lord Potter – you couldn’t have known, we didn’t, and don’t, make a ceremony of it, and it was a long time ago.”

“Still, I must apologise, Lord Weasley.” Harry replied placing his hand over his heart.

Thomas inclined his head with a slight smile.

“As much as I dislike having to move the conversation back to our original point of discussion, but House Black and House Potter _must_ leave this meeting with some form of repayment for the debts owed.” Sirius sighed, placing the parchment on the table, and unfolding it.

Harry knew what the parchment said – he’d read it over three times just that morning at breakfast. It was an old contract drawn up between the three families dated over a century ago. House Weasley had taken out a loan from the two families for half a million Galleons each, and each time the debt had been due, an arrangement had been agreed upon to extend the date – that final date had come, and it couldn’t be extended any further. The Goblins had seen to that.

Thomas sighed once again as his eyes darted back and forth across the page. Sirius had told Harry earlier that very day just how poor House Weasley was, and a small part of him felt genuine pity for the House – after all, he went to school with four of the Weasleys and shared a Common Room with them.

Ron had been, well, _Ron_ – and despite the decent conversation’s he’d had with the boy during the Christmas break, he’d had less and less opportunity to speak to him since the whole incident with the mirror at the start of the year.

The twins were always a delight – they reminded him of Sirius and Remus, though increased ten-fold. The Marauders had often been subtle in their pranks and school adventures – the twins had no such tendencies and revelled in the chaos wherever they went. It was little wonder that the two of them were both Beaters for the House Team.

Percy was the one of the four he’d had the least interaction with. Despite being a newly minted Prefect during Harry’s first year, the boy had been aloof and distant from the rest of Gryffindor – perhaps it was the seriousness with which he held himself. He was sure the boy was friendly upon getting to know him, but Harry wouldn’t hold his breath.

“This will ruin my House, you realise?” Thomas muttered, looking up at the two of them.

“What if it didn’t?” Harry asked after a moment, frowning a little as an idea formed in his mind.

“Excuse me?”

“House Potter won’t feel the loss of the money owed – at least not unless something disastrous were to happen.” Harry began, shifting slightly at the sight of both adults staring at him. “Lord Black, as my Godfather, can arrange on House Potter’s behalf for a new contract to be drafted with Gringotts, in which you pay the debt owed back in small amounts over a set period of time – a debt that can be lessened by the acquisition of some land.”

Lord Weasley frowned, glancing between the two of them. “And which piece of land would you want in this proposal?”

“What about the land that has the Lovegoods on it?” Sirius interjected with pursed lips. “House Lovegood is a Potter Vassal and their lands are in Wales – it would make sense to acquire their land.”

Harry nodded and turned to look at the Lord before them. Thomas’s face was scrunched up in thought as he rubbed at the stubble on his jaw – the light scratching sound the only noise in the room. “Depending on the amount you would wish for, this could work. This still leaves me with the debt to House Black, however.”

“What if House Potter and House Black took Wards from your own House? They could work for our Houses to pay off a chunk of this debt while you continue paying off your share?” Harry suggested, looking between the two adults. “Fred and George Weasley would be my suggestion.”

He watched as Sirius rubbed at his jaw and nodded slowly. Thomas, however, was shaking his head slowly. “While I appreciate your offer, Lord Potter – I cannot have a member of my family serving beneath a child in the way you propose, no offence meant Lord Potter.”

“None taken, Lord Weasley.” Harry replied before Sirius could.

“House Black would take them both. For the coming years, they would remain at home – House Black would see to their schooling and any costs of living, of course. When they graduate, they would work for House Black until their portion of the debt has been paid. Would you find this acceptable?” Sirius suggested after a long moment, shifting in his seat.

The Lord Weasley was quiet for a time as he looked between the two of them, and Harry felt his gaze keenly. For saying that he had held a disappointing first impression outside of the Wizengamot, he began to realise the full weight of the man before him.

No longer was Thomas Weasley the slightly overweight, balding man in old, threadbare robes – instead, he was the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House, even if it _was_ falling into ruin. Harry shifted a little uncomfortably.

“This is acceptable. I assume I should expect your lawyers within the next few days?” Thomas asked, raising a single brow as his eyes darted back and forth. Both Sirius and he nodded.

As Thomas began to rise, Harry held out his hand as he leaned forward. “My Lord, if you don’t mind me asking – is there anything House Potter can do to help?” He asked, glancing briefly at Sirius. He’d expected to see some sort of confusion on his Godfather’s face, but the blatant amusement almost made him grin.

“To what end?” Lord Weasley warily asked after a pause.

“Nothing underhanded – nothing that would even cause your House to owe mine. I know the Weasley’s at Hogwarts, my Lord, and they are all fine young wizards you would be proud of.” Thomas smiled at that. “I simply wish to improve their lives, if I can.”

“It’s a commendable wish, Lord Potter.”

“What about the rumours of your lands being cursed?” Sirius asked with a shrug. “We could hire a team of Curse Breakers to sweep your lands and remove whatever they find. I also hear Arthur’s home is in need of some work.”

“Aye, Arthur’s home is… _unique_ in its design.” Thomas chuckled before he sighed, looking at the two of them. “I’m not so proud as my ancestors, my Lords – if you offer your help, I won’t turn it down.”

“Excellent – you should no doubt expect the first team within the week, in that case.” Sirius grinned, holding his hand out to the Lord Weasley, who shook it heartily. After a second, they released one another, and Harry offered his own hand. This close to the man across the table from him, and Harry could see the unshed tears in the man’s eyes, and Harry felt something swell in his chest as he stood a little taller.

“Thank you, Lord Potter.” Thomas murmured happily, his smiling face looking down at him.

Sometimes, Harry thought, the world would be such a better place if only people took the time out of their lives to help those they could. What a world that would be.

* * *

Harry stood in the entrance foyer of Blackwall alongside Sirius and Arcturus – Remus was outside at the back of the manor, ready to direct the guests to their seats, and Amelia was upstairs with Susan, the two of them wouldn’t be venturing outside of their room until Sirius was chained to the altar – he’d assumed that one had been a joke, but, as he looked at the man next to him, trembling with nervous energy, he began debating his initial assumption.

The last few days at Blackwall had been hectic and had passed in a bit of a blur. As a child, he was forbidden from helping with the decorations – Lispy had threatened him with her pan if he even _thought_ about helping the Elves, and Harry simply didn’t know the spells to assist any of the adults.

Instead, he’d watched from afar with Hedwig and Clara, as the dozens of artisans that Arcturus had hired swept through the grounds. Six florists alone had turned up, each one casting spell after spell on red roses, tulips, carnations, orchids, and peonies to create large, beautiful archways for the guests and the newlywed couple to walk through.

Many of them were in the gardens, along with the large, open tent that Arcturus had erected all on his own – Harry had thought at least three or four wizards would have been needed at least.

He’d watched as the Elves prepared dish after dish, popping around the kitchen and the tent as they arranged the feast and set the places at each of the hundred tables that had been arranged. As a wedding between Noble Houses, there was a certain level of extravagance that was expected, as well as a certain length of the guest list.

Harry, whether it was his own lack of understanding or his relative immaturity among his elders, couldn’t help but think that a large wedding, with guests you barely knew, was utterly pointless. Why should he care if some high-ranking member of the Ministry he’d never met congratulated him? As far as he was concerned, a wedding was simply between those involved and those they cared about.

Perhaps that had been why his father had kept his family from his mother? Maybe his father had just wished to live in obscurity. It was a strange thought – he couldn’t imagine his life without knowing all those at Arpton he had come to care for, or for the lands of his that families lived on. It seemed that, with every answerable question about his family and its history, there were a dozen more that simply couldn’t be answered.

He glanced to his left and cocked a brow at Sirius with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nervous?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sirius replied, not bothering to look at him. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes as he pursed his lips a little.

“Oh, I’m sure.” He chuckled, hearing the tell-tale crack of the first guests arriving just beyond the front door. Just as the door began to creak open, he felt the back-handed gentle slap to his shoulder and barely managed to contain the snicker.

He caught sight of the first guests and knew them simply from the sigils on their doublets and dresses – it was House Newt, House Black’s principal Bannermen in England, so it was expected that they would be the first to arrive.

Lord Jacob Newt was a tall, broad shouldered man with sandy hair that was cropped close to his scalp. His robes were of fine quality with the deep maroon associated with House Newt. His wife, Lady Melissa Newt was clad in a fine dress with a square neckline and her auburn hair in an elaborate up-do.

The two of them greeted Arcturus first, as was custom, then Sirius, and finally himself. He’d had some passing interaction with them both over the years, but nothing substantial. After all, they were Vassals to House Black, not to House Potter – though technically, because Arcturus and Sirius had sworn to him, they were Vassals to him also. Not that he ever made a point of mentioning it – he was barely comfortable having Vassals of his own.

As time went on, more and more guests began to arrive – House Malfoy were invited due to the marriage of Narcissa and Lucius, and despite _both_ of their stations being lower than his own, politically, martially, and financially, they both still found a way to somehow peer down their noses at him. Draco was a little better, openly curling his top lip as he went about introductions.

He’d had little to do with Draco Malfoy over their first year at school, though from what he’d observed of the boy, Harry found him to be dull, arrogant and rude – though he did show signs of having a keen mind when he wanted to apply himself. Daphne had told them all that Malfoy paraded around the Slytherin Common Room as if he owned the place.

House Longbottom was the first to arrive out of his friends, and Harry could see Neville physically forcing himself to contain his excitement as he trembled almost as much as Sirius did – the similarities making him grin openly. When his best friend came to stand before him, however, he was surprised at the difference in him after only a month of not seeing him.

Neville was taller and a little broader now, and his cheeks looked less chubby. He was beginning to look like the man Harry remembered from the mirror – even his clothes were beginning to resemble it. Instead of the usual doublet, Neville wore a long-sleeved brown tunic that was cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt that had an intricate carving of the bear of House Longbottom with little tufts of fur sticking up along the bottom and top of it.

“Do you like it?” Neville grinned, glancing down at his stomach. “Found it in one of the vaults under the old tower – you know, the one that leans a little?”

Harry nodded and allowed his eyes to glance at the twin sapphires that acted as the eyes for the roaring beast. “I know the one – it suits you, Longbottom.”

“Aye, I think so too – Gran said I looked a fool playing dress-up, but I like it. Might take it with me back to Hogwarts.”

Harry snorted, picturing Neville walking around the school with the belt as part of his uniform. “You’d strike fear into the hearts of the first years – no doubt about that.”

It was at that moment that Augusta Longbottom appeared at Neville’s shoulder and directed her stern gaze upon him – Neville, for what it was worth, simply grinned at the woman and shrugged his shoulders as she began to lead him away, throwing a subtle, rude gesture towards him when Harry’s chuckles reached his ears.

Harry had barely been able to suppress his revulsion when he watched the ancient Lord Dondarrion enter the building, and his shoulders had immediately tensed, and his fists clenched. The man had shuffled along the line, offering a short thanks for the invitation and exchanging the expected pleasantries.

He’d felt sick to his stomach when he’d clasped hands with the liver-spotted man, whose politics and views on the world were almost as old as he was – once the man had shuffled off, he’d wiped his hand furiously against the leg of his trousers.

The Weasley’s arrival had been a surprise, to be sure. Thomas had strode through the door looking a decade younger – his eyes bright and his smile wide as he eagerly shook hands with them all, lingering with Sirius and Harry particularly before he introduced his two companions. His brother and heir, Arthur Weasley, and his wife Molly Weasley neé Prewitt.

Arthur Weasley looked similar to his older brother, other than the full head of hair. He appeared jovial and seemed to always have a small smile on his face – he greeted Sirius as an old friend, which he was shocked to see Sirius respond in kind. He was dressed similar to Thomas, in that they both wore an odd combination of traditional wizard robes and Muggle suits – he was sure they would have looked quite good, if not for the odd colour combinations. Navy robes and emerald waistcoats had no business being worn together.

If Arthur was a soft-spoken man, his wife Molly was boisterous in comparison. Her voice was somewhere between motherly and shrill in her excitement, and she beamed at all three of them – him in particular when it was his turn to exchange pleasantries.

For a moment he was absolutely stunned when, instead of simply offering her hand like the other ladies had, she swept him into a tight hug before pulling back and fussing with the few strands of hair that had come loose from the knot at the back of his head.

“Oh Harry, dear – look how you’ve grown up!” Molly began, patting his cheeks affectionately.

He blinked and looked to Sirius, who looked positively thrilled – the bastard.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” He managed after a moment as his brain attempted to catch up to the rest of the world.

“Oh, you wouldn’t remember me, I’m sure! Why, you were such a small thing – you and Ron got on like a Pixies in a China Shop when Lily introduced you to us all.”

Harry blinked again as he lightly shook his head. “You knew my mother?”

“Of course, dear! We were all in the-“

“Molly, we’d best go get our seats.” Arthur said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry frowned a little, feeling a bit annoyed at having been so close to a little more information on the woman that had been Lily Potter.

Molly glanced up at Arthur, a wide smile on her face as she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before turning to look at Harry. “You simply _must_ visit The Burrow, Harry – it would do Ron some good to see a friend.”

Instead of simply correcting her, as he was _not_ friends with Ronald Weasley – they were acquaintances at best, really – he simply smiled and bowed his head a little. It was a trick Sirius had taught him a few years ago: Agree without agreeing.

The next dozen families passed without any incident – though he _had_ been introduced to a number of daughters. Some had been older than him by a decade, while others looked to have only just learned how to walk. He understood that many houses would leap at the opportunity to tie their house to his own, but he had no interest in marrying for political reasons.

When he married, it would be like Sirius – marrying for love above all else. He knew Sirius had been thrown in at the deep end by Arcturus arranging the betrothal, but Sirius had genuinely cared for the woman before the whole thing. That he had tried to distance himself from her over the years after the disaster of his parent’s death was an unfortunate result of Sirius’s own stubbornness.

For they loved one another – it was clear as day to any that truly knew them. _Merlin_ , he was old enough – and having been raised by the two remaining Marauders – to understand the glances that the two gave one another in the Atrium of the _Ministry_ of all places in the July Wizengamot.

So, as per the first rule of being a Marauder – _Never cock-block a fellow Marauder_ – he had found a good excuse to leave the two adults to it. The fact the adults hadn’t reappeared until the evening meal, both sporting distant grins and tousled hair spoke wonders for their relationship. He truly wished them all the happiness in the world.

The arrival of House Greengrass, was, of course, the arrival of chaos. Castor was the first through the door – tall, proud and dressed impeccably in a fine, dark doublet with the Stallion of House Greengrass emblazoned across his chest. Next to him was the beautiful Thalia, looking utterly bewitching in her dark emerald dress.

Following quickly behind the pair was Daphne, with all the poise and elegance of a Lady, and his personal favourite – little Astoria. He grinned as she spotted him, and subtly attempted to brace himself as he watched Astoria grin cheekily before she sprinted at him.

She collided with his chest with all the force of a dragon, briefly knocking the wind from his lungs as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her hair was piled atop her head with small emeralds woven through her dark tresses, and he leaned back to look down upon her.

Her cheek was squashed adorably against his chest and after a moment she leaned back and grinned cheekily up at him – not that any grin of Astoria’s wasn’t cheeky in the first place.

“Harry!” She squeaked, before crushing him in another hug. He chuckled and winced a little at the force she was putting on his ribs but placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head all the same.

“’Storia,” He grinned. “Excited to see me?”

She rolled her eyes as she pulled back and straightened her dress – something told him that she’d had to be forced into it. “Of course – you’re my favourite! Why’d you have to go to school – it’s been _boring_ without you.”

“I’m sorry – we’ll go on an adventure as soon as I can, alright?”

“Promise?” She asked quietly, her blue eyes wide as they blinked up at him. Damn her – she knew _exactly_ how to get him – not that he had any intention of _not_ spending time with his favourite Greengrass.

“I solemnly swear.” He winked, hearing the quiet snort from Sirius at his side. “Now, have you been behaving?”

“Yep!” She replied quickly – a little _too_ quickly if he were honest with himself.

“Don’t let her fool you, she’d been driving us all insane.” Daphne muttered, just loud enough to be heard as the rest of the family approached.

“Castor – good to see you.” Arcturus smiled, shaking the man’s hand firmly. The two were old friends and business associates – House Black and House Greengrass had a number of trade agreements between the two of them, and all seemed to be ticking along wonderfully.

“Arcturus – always a pleasure.” Castor replied, his short beard not quite long enough to hide the lopsided smile, and for a moment, Harry realised exactly where Daphne got hers from. “I believe congratulations are in order, Sirius – I hear there’s a wedding.”

“There is? First I’ve heard of it.” Sirius replied before offering his hand to the man as the two of them chuckled.

When it came to Harry, Castor’s eyes briefly hardened. “Ah, Harry – the corruptor of my daughter.”

“I assure you, my Lord – Daphne was more than corrupted by the time I met her.” Harry grinned nervously, and the snicker he heard from Sirius almost tempted him to swing a boot in his direction.

“The other one.” Castor huffed, eyeing little Astoria, who was still wrapped around Harry’s arm and looked rather sheepish in that moment. Harry barely repressed a groan as he glanced down at her.

“ _Merlin_ , what did she do? If she broke something, I’ll be more than happy to replace it, my Lord.”

“She found herself a Familiar.” Castor sighed, cocking a brow at his daughter, who giggled a little as her dress shifted around her feet. Harry frowned and looked closer – something was moving under her dress. “I see she even managed to hide it when we Apparated.” He paused and looked at Arcturus, who appeared more bemused than anything. “You have my apologies, Lord Black.”

“No apologies needed, Castor – we all know of Astoria’s adventurous side, after all.”

Daphne snorted.

“What did you bond to, Astoria?” Harry asked with a small amount of dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach.

“His name is Piper, and he’s really well behaved – I trained him myself!” Astoria began, her eyes wide and darting among all of the adults.

“Well, isn’t _that_ a ringing endorsement.” Daphne muttered, and _Gods_ , he tried not to snicker – but he just couldn’t help himself.

“He can fetch things, and he can sit – playing dead is his favourite! I feed him, and I’m going to teach him to do tricks too!” Astoria continued in her ramble, as if she hadn’t heard her sister, as she began to fiddle with her fingers. “Piper, come out.” She said after a moment, looking down at her dress.

There was a quiet rustle of fabric before a small head wormed its way under the hem of her skirt as a small black nose timidly appeared, followed by the most gorgeous molten orange eyes Harry had ever seen. It was a little baby fox. Its colouration was breath-taking. Its fur was pure black, but for the streaks of orange fur that ran down its body.

Astoria bent down to pluck the kit up from the floor, its mouth drooping open as its tongue hung lazily out the side of its mouth as it gazed up at its witch. “This is Piper – I found him on the grounds at home.”

“And your father told you to leave it well enough alone.” Thalia added, though her voice was full of amusement, while Castor simply rubbed at his temples. “So, naturally, you bonded with it.” She added, winking down at her youngest daughter.

“Please don’t send him home, Lord Black – he’ll behave, I promise!” Astoria pleaded as Piper reached up with a paw to swat at a strand of hair that framed Astoria’s face. Harry noticed for the first time that his tail was completely black, with a white tip.

“It’s fine with me, Astoria – but you need to make sure he behaves, you hear? No biting the other guests – _either_ of you.” Arcturus chuckled, cocking a brow at the small girl, who blushed for a brief moment. Harry found himself chuckling a little, remembering Astoria when she was younger – he had no idea that toddlers went through a _biting_ phase.

Astoria gave a small cheer before placing Piper back on his feet as she skipped further into the house, the rest of her family scrambling to catch up – though Daphne lingered a moment and levelled her gaze at him. “This is your fault, Potter.” She muttered, narrowing her eyes at him.

Harry, because he considered himself of the sensible sort, simply swallowed and took a minute step backwards. The last time Daphne had pinned him with that look, he’d found himself limping for a week. With a huff, Daphne swept past him as Arcturus and Sirius simply looked on amused.

“Not a word.” Harry muttered, glaring at the two men, who were admittedly making a valiant effort to stifle their amusement.

The next family to arrive were the Davis’s – Tracey’s family. They arrived with a small crack, and the ordinary looking family was clearly in awe as they stepped into the foyer. He knew, of course, that Tracey’s family weren’t related to any of the old families.

Tracey’s parents were exactly as he remembered them – both dark of hair and brown-eyed with fair complexions. Her father, a Muggle-Born, was dressed in a fine-fitting suit that appeared well tailored, while her mother, a Half-Blood herself, was dressed in an elegant dark dress that left her shoulders bare and hugged her figure well. On reflex, he elbowed Sirius in the side, making sure he was paying attention.

“Remember who’s getting _married_ , Padfoot.” He muttered out of the corner of his mouth, not needing to look to know the man would be rolling his eyes.

When it came to his own formal introductions, he grinned at Tracey and let her know the others, except Hermione, had already arrived and that she’d be sat with them. Tracey had let out the briefest of squeals and wrapped him in a quick hug, momentarily stunning him.

Awkwardly, he patted her back, before her parents led her further into the house. He found himself once more going through the motions of greeting the guests that arrived – mostly Lords, Ladies and their heirs, and before long, the faces began to blur into one another.

When the ball of flame appeared in the foyer, Harry couldn’t help but grin at the stunned expressions on the elder Granger’s faces – Hermione, who he knew had experienced the method of travel before, looked less stunned.

Clara, as he had expected, preened under the attention Hermione briefly gave her as thanks before disappearing in another ball of flame, which thankfully did nothing to damage the wooden floor.

“That was-“ John began, breathless as he looked around wide-eyed.

“It was.” Jean murmured, though it was still loud enough for Harry to hear.

Jean, Harry noticed, was clad in a long, flowing black dress with a square neck and was held up by two thin straps over her shoulders. Her hair was loose, though the sides were braided at the back of her head while the rest fell in elegant ringlets between her shoulder blades.

Her husband, John, had his wild, dark hair tamed – somehow – and was dressed in a nice, light grey suit with a white shirt and black tie. The slight stubble on his face gave him a rugged appearance that worked well for him, and his hazel eyes were wide as they swept the foyer before landing on the three of them. He cleared his throat and approached Arcturus first, his hand outstretched and a friendly smile on his face.

Hermione had told Harry plenty about her parents over their time at Hogwarts, and he feared what John and Sirius would get up to if left unattended for an extended period of time. Her father was a jokester, and though he could be stern and professional, he preferred to have a smile on his face and a joke on his tongue. It was what had apparently endeared him to her mother so much – Harry found it remarkably sweet, and to a degree, could relate with his own parents.

“Lord Black, we’re so thankful you extended an invitation towards my family – we don’t get much opportunity to share Hermione’s world.” John said, clasping Arcturus’s hand and giving it a firm shake.

Arcturus simply bowed his head a little. “The House of Black welcomes you to our home, and we’re pleased that you could make it.”

When Jean approached Arcturus, Harry watched as she dipped in a little curtsey, and had to stifle a quiet chuckle at how nervous the two adult Granger’s appeared to be. He couldn’t blame them – they were in a foreign environment and were trying to adapt as best they could.

Not a moment later, John was standing before him with a wide grin on his face. Harry was suddenly nervous as to what he’d spoken to Sirius about – he knew mischief when he saw it – he’d been raised a Marauder, after all, even if he rarely let that side of him out to play.

“Harry – a real pleasure to see you again!” John beamed, holding his hand out. Harry took it, and for a brief moment was surprised at the grip of the man before him. After a moment, John lowered his head and whispered in Harry’s ear. “I’m so thankful you became friends with my little girl, Harry – it’s all we ever wanted for her.”

“The honour is all mine, John – it’s truly a pleasure to know her.” He replied honestly. It was true – Hermione challenged him academically and pushed him to be better than he was. She was a loyal friend, and in the short time he’d known her, he had come to regard her in the same way as Neville and Daphne.

John stood back to his full height and clapped Harry on the shoulder just before Jean came to stand before him. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Harry – I know we didn’t get long to say hello at Kings Cross.”

“Jean – a pleasure to see you again. All the Ladies here tonight will surely be jealous of you.” Harry replied, channelling his inner Sirius as he bowed and kissed the back of her hand as was expected of him.

He found himself grinning as he stood once again, as he watched Jean nudge John in the side with her free elbow. “He never disappoints, John – you should take some lessons.”

“Should I be worried you’d steal my wife out from under my nose, Harry?” John winked down at him.

“Oh, I would never dream of it, John – I’m not nearly brave enough.” Harry replied cheekily as the adults laughed.

“Hello Harry.” Hermione greeted him as she came to stand before him – he briefly registered Arcturus and Sirius bowing and saying a few quiet words before they disappeared.

Harry blinked for a moment, almost not recognising the girl before him. Her hair was braided into a crown around the back of her head, while her hair fell in waves down her back. Her shoulders were bare, except for the two thin straps of silk that held up the body of the Gryffindor Red dress – it even had small golden lions woven into it.

“Hermione – you look wonderful.” He replied, smiling widely as he bent and kissed the back of her hand. “The sun in Spain obviously agrees with you.” He added, noting the bronze tan.

As he looked back up at Hermione, her cheeks were a little pink as she fiddled with her fingers absently. “Thank you.” She murmured quietly, her chocolate eyes taking his outfit in. “You look quite nice yourself.”

“Thank you.” He replied, briefly glancing down at the dark doublet he wore, and the wolf emblazoned on his chest. It reached to his mid-thigh and split up the side, allowing him ease of movement while a long leather belt cinched it at the waist, the wolf of his house dotted evenly along its length.

Harry turned and looked at his friend’s parents with a smile. “As you were the last to arrive, shall I escort you to the ceremony?” He asked, offering his arm to Hermione, smiling as she took it after only a moment’s hesitation.

He led them through the Manor, pointing out the occasional portrait that they passed. The doors to the rest of the house were mostly closed, more so that none got distracted and lingered in one place or another and were late for the ceremony than for privacy’s sake.

They stepped out of the house through a large pair of glass doors, which split and folded in on themselves to make the doorway larger than it otherwise would be, and after a moment, they were stepping through the gardens.

They rounded a corner at the far side, and the large tent quickly came into view. It was situated on the edge of the large fields that made up the rest of the estate – fields that he regularly ran Arlan through, and if he squinted and looked off to the left, he would see the small, subtle entrance to Moony’s bunker, hidden away among a small copse of birch trees.

The canvas tent hung lazily in the air. There were no sides to it – simply a large piece of white canvas with many fine curtains hanging lazily to ward off the gentle breeze as the celebrations continued into the night. Already, music played lazily as the guests mingled amongst one another in their seats.

At the front of the tent was the officiant – a priest of _Tora_ , the Goddess of Life – who was a rotund man, with jowls that shook with each movement he made, and large white mutton-chop facial hair that stuck out at odd angles. His thin hair was swept over the top of his head in some semblance of hiding his baldness, and his stomach hid his feet from his own gaze – not even the loose robe of his order being able to hide the swell.

Harry had met him briefly upon his arrival and found the man to be pompous and full of self-importance – what that importance was, he had no idea – he was a wedding priest, nothing more, as far as Harry knew. He stood there, with a serene, distant expression on his face as he clutched a copy of _The Testaments Of The Divine_ in his large hands.

Sirius stood a step lower, and was conversing quietly with Remus, who was dressed in a fine doublet with the sigil of House Black on his chest – Arcturus was no doubt somewhere in the crowd, hosting the guests as best he could until it was time to begin.

“There’s so many people.” He heard Jean murmur just behind him. He turned and smiled at Hermione’s parents.

“House Black is one of the most powerful Houses in our society – the wedding of its heir is an important event.” Harry said before stopping at a table toward the front of the assembly – the closer one sat to the exchanging of vows, the higher one was regarded and the more luck it was thought to bring.

Already sat at the table were the families of Longbottom, Davis and Greengrass. Harry, unfortunately, wouldn’t be sitting with them until after the feast, as he was expected to sit at the High Table, along with the other members of House Black and House Bones – though he’d be sure to make his way over as soon as he could.

He pulled out Hermione’s chair for her and gently pushed it forward as John did the same for Jean. As he looked up, he spotted Astoria whispering to Piper, who was sitting calmly by the base of her chair, while Daphne whispered to Tracey. Neville was excitedly talking to Castor and Thalia, both of the elder Greengrass’s grinning as they listened to him. It took the rest of the table very little time to notice the arrival of the Grangers, and within seconds, all were exchanging pleasantries, and as Harry turned to head toward Sirius and Remus, he just caught the start of Tracey gushing over Hermione’s dress.

“Still nervous?” He asked as he stepped up beside Remus as he grinned at Sirius.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Sirius grunted, absently pulling on his doublet to straighten out the non-existent creases. Harry shared a look with Remus as they both chuckled.

They stood chatting idly for a time, waiting for the sun to fall beyond the horizon, as was tradition – the new couple would greet the following dawn as one. As the last of the light in the room Harry flicked his wrist and felt the wand leap into his hand from beneath his sleeve.

He’d practiced the spell a number of times, but never with so many people watching him. It had been his honour to have Sirius ask him to be the one to light the torches and begin the ceremony. Harry had also revelled in the feeling of Sirius teaching him a spell – even if it didn’t have that many practical applications.

He stepped forward and levelled his wand at the first torch and concentrated – as the first sprang to life, he took another step forward and began to spin slowly, a beautiful orange flame bursting into existence as he completed his full turn.

As the last torch lit, the sounds at the tables suddenly silenced, and all looked upon him as he stowed his wand away and got into position between Sirius and Remus, his hands clasped comfortably before him.

The music changed into a soft, melodic melody, and for a moment, Harry thought he could hear words through the instruments. He felt lighter, more at peace – he closed his eyes and breathed out softly as a small smile spread across his lips.

The soft gasp of Sirius next to him had him opening his eyes as he gazed upon the far side of the tent. There, standing with her arm entwined with Arcturus, was Amelia Bones. Her blonde hair was in an elaborate up-do, with ringlets framing her face.

Her dress was as white as bone and had truly little detailing on it – something he knew was Amelia’s choice. In the time he had gotten to know her, he had found her to be a rather straightforward woman, and to that end, he couldn’t imagine her in any other dress. It was sleeveless, and had a low neckline, but a section of embroidered lace kept it modest and conservative. He imagined the low neckline was for Sirius’s benefit more than anyone.

Ahead of them, in a lovely dress of shimmering silver, was Susan. All along the pathway, Susan scattered petals of peonies evenly – her smile was wide, and she almost seemed giddy with excitement.

Eventually, Arcturus and Amelia came to a stop just before the steps they were standing on with the priest. Susan had taken up position opposite him, acting as a witness on behalf of her Aunt. He smiled slightly at her and offered her a small nod.

“Who comes before the Gods on this night?” The priest began, his voice loud enough to be heard all the way to Derbyshire in the silence.

“Amelia Bones, of House Bones.” Amelia answered, drawing her shoulders back a little, and Harry grinned a little.

“And who brings her into the view of the Gods?”

“I, Arcturus, of House Black, in the place of Nathaniel Bones – her brother, who’s life was ended far too soon.”

At this, Sirius stepped forward and offered Amelia his hand as he led her up the stairs to stand before one another. They both stood with their hands gently holding onto one another as the priest began tying silk ribbons around their wrists.

“In the name of _Koris_ , Goddess of Luck, I bless thee with good fortune in your years together.” The priest began, and Harry could see the slight tears welling up in Amelia’s eyes as she pursed her lips and tried to remain composed. “In the name of _Enera_ , Goddess of the Spirit, I bind you both to one another. Your hardships will be each other’s – your boons, one another’s joys.”

“In the name of _Tora_ , Goddess of life, I bless you with many years together – may they bring you both the joy you seek. In the name of _Beddoss_ , God of Nature, I bless you both with fertility so your children may bring you joy.”

Sirius must have wiggled his eyebrows, or something, because at that moment Amelia _giggled_ – something he’d never have expected to hear from the woman.

“In the name of _Tidall_ , God of Chaos, I curse those who would wish to break this union of souls. In the name of _Temra_ , Goddess of Balance, I declare you both as two parts of one whole – forever joined and destined to find one another.”

Harry smiled and felt his own eyes growing moist. Beside him, he heard Remus quietly clear his throat.

“And finally, in the name of _Emis_ , God of death, may you both find one another in the next life.”

As he finished, the priest drew a number of runes in the air with his wand, their fiery shapes lingering in the air. “If you would say the words, my Lord, my Lady.”

As one, both Amelia and Sirius began to say the words, “You. Me. We. Us. Friend. Guide. Lover. I am yours and you are mine – from this day, until the end of our days.”

As their vows came to a close, the two of them gently leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to their lips as cheers and applause echoed throughout the tent, wolf-whistles followed soon after when Amelia threw her arms around Sirius’s neck and deepened their kiss.

Both broke apart and were clearly grinning at one another as they walked down the short steps as the music began to play once more. Harry slowly followed the pair, his hands now clasped behind his back and a grin on his face as he listened to Sirius and Remus joking back and forth as they walked to the left of the tent where the head table and dancing area was located.

On his way, he passed the table with all his friends on it and grinned at the number of wet eyes. Besides Neville and Astoria, there wasn’t a single dry pair among them – he was tempted to say something to Daphne as he passed, but the look she gave him made him think otherwise. Best not to have a funeral on the day of a wedding – bad luck and all that.

Harry grinned as he saw Andromeda and Ted already placed at the table, with Nymphadora sat beside them – for once, actually resembling her parents. All of House Black were to be seated at the table – with the exception of Narcissa, who was seated with her husband Lucius and their son Draco towards the back.

Andromeda looked stunning, with her thick brunette hair tied back loosely with the majority falling down her back while the rest flowed down her front. Her dress was a deep ebony colour of crushed velvet that hugged her figure with a sweetheart neckline and had a number of white buttons running up the front of it.

Ted, to her left, was dressed in a fine Muggle suit that was equally as dark – only, he also wore a black shirt and a silver tie. Even from where Harry was, he could see the suit fit him well and complemented his athletic physique. As usual, he was clean-shaven and had a toothy smile on his face as he watched their party arrive. His brown hair was cropped short, with just enough on top to style fashionably in a small quiff.

Nymphadora sat on the right hand-side of Andromeda, in a lovely slate, sleeveless dress that was held up by two intricate, wide straps that reached up from her back and over her shoulders to the top of her dress at the front. He knew the split up the side of her dress had been a point of contention with her mother.

She had graduated the summer just before he had started, and so he’d missed an opportunity to hound his favourite cousin at school – he still owed her for turning all of his clothes polka dot for a week just before he’d left for Hogwarts.

He followed Sirius and Amelia behind the table, grinning at Nymphadora as he passed – he even went so far to mouth her full name, fighting the urge to cackle as she glared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Friends, family – honoured guests!” Sirius called out as he raised his goblet to those assembled before them at their tables. “We thank you for sharing our moment of joy – House Black and House Bones appreciate your kind words, and so to this, we toast to you all!”

Harry raised his goblet as Sirius took a sip from his own, before passing it on to Amelia, as was the custom – the first thing shared as man and wife. For the rest of the night, they would share everything either consumed, and so they would continue to do so for the rest of the week.

In a rare display of wealth, Arcturus had hired a number of human servants through a high-end catering business from Pipet Square, just off of Diagon Alley, to bring out the plates of food – all were exceptionally well paid and would no doubt be leaving with a generous bonus from the House of Black.

Harry took his seat and quickly tucked himself in as the food began to make its way onto the tables, courtesy of the men and women working the night away. The first dish that arrived before him was a simple dish of salmon steak and potatoes with a delightful, creamy dill sauce. Harry simply had a single bite of it before directing it be sent to the table with his friends.

It was an old custom that had survived the centuries. During a celebration of feast, the host, or their family, would take a single mouthful of the food before passing it on to another table – depending on what you sent them, you could show either your favour, or disfavour throughout the meal. More than one wizard and witch throughout history had used it as an opportunity to snub a rival.

Harry knew that, sitting at the High Table with the bride and groom, recognised as a member of the Black family as well as the future Lord Potter, he couldn’t afford to show disfavour to anyone – and he certainly wouldn’t wish to spoil Sirius and Amelia’s night. He smiled as he saw the other plates from the head table make their way out into the crowd, each one earning a nod of thanks, or a raised goblet.

It seemed, as he glanced at the table full of his friends, that each of the members of the table were sharing the dish between themselves, adding a small helping to their already existing dishes piled high with food.

Neville had a plate stacked so high with food, he genuinely wondered if he’d need to be rolled off of the grounds. Daphne had little on her plate, content to nibble small forkfuls and remain dignified – no doubt conscious of the upcoming dancing. Tracey was somewhere in the middle. Her plate was no larger than Daphne’s, but she was at least eating the way he’d come to expect from their time at Hogwarts. Hermione had yet to touch her food – her wide eyes darting around and trying to take in all they could.

The next dish arrived before him – a stack of kebabs of skewered chicken and sweet-smelling peppers, whose juices ran down the length of the stick tantalisingly. They’d become a guilty pleasure at Hogwarts when they were served, and so he didn’t hesitate in carefully lifting one onto his plate before directing it be sent to House Lovegood, one of his own Bannermen from Wales.

The feast continued happily enough, with the occasional toast and cheers, and it wasn’t long until everyone began to become merry on the food and drink. To his left, Sirius and Amelia continued to lean into one another, whispering sweet nothings and sharing their food and drink. Before long, people were up and meandering about, catching up with friends and allies – what better place for politicking, than at a wedding?

The music, which had been playing quietly in the background of the feast, began the introduction to a new song, though this was slightly louder. Sirius stood suddenly and offered a hand to his new wife, and Harry couldn’t help but grin. The two quickly moved around the table to stand in the centre of the area that had been sectioned off as the dance floor as cheers and claps rang out.

Quietly, with his eyes trained on Sirius and Amelia, Harry watched with a small smile as the two began the slow steps of their first dance. Amelia had her arms draped around Sirius’s neck, while his own hands were placed on her waist as they held one another close and swayed to the music. There would be much more formal dances afterwards, as the first dance was reserved solely for the bride and groom.

Harry, along with the majority of the occupants of the tent, clapped excitedly as the song wound down. He stood, along with many of the others dotted throughout the tables, and lightly tugged on his doublet to straighten out the creases – he’d eaten lightly, and the small amount of wine he’d drank, as was tradition at a wedding, had relaxed him considerably.

He made his way around the table before coming to a stop before his friends – already Neville was asking Tracey if she’d like to dance, while an older boy – perhaps having just finished Hogwarts, or one of the many other schools in Britain, asked Daphne to dance. Harry came to a stop behind Hermione, who was still sitting, looking sadly at her friends being asked for a dance – evidently, she hadn’t seen him approach.

“Hermione,” He began, trying not to smirk as he watched her visibly jump in her seat. “Would you do me the honour of this dance?” He asked, bowing a little and offering his hand, palm up to her.

“Go on, dear.” He heard Jean whisper to her daughter with a little giggle. Not a moment later, he felt Hermione’s soft hand in his own and he stood back to his full height – for the first time, he realised he was half a head taller than her.

He offered the crook of his elbow to her and led her to the dancefloor where various couples were already beginning to get into position. He saw Andromeda and Ted, Sirius and Amelia, Neville and Tracey, Daphne and the older boy – a member of House Clubwood, Remus and –

Nymphadora?

Harry came to a stop in a small, open area among the bodies of the awaiting dancers as he turned to face Hermione. Her cheeks were tinged pink and she was worrying at her bottom lip nervously.

“Have you danced before?” Harry asked with a smile, watching as her eyes briefly darted up to his own before briefly flickering somewhere over his shoulder.

“No – not much cause for formal dancing in the Muggle world, I suppose.” She replied quietly, glancing around as the partners stepped up to one another.

“Don’t worry about it – just follow me, okay? Now, take my hand, and put your other one on my shoulder.” Harry said gently, raising his right hand to shoulder height and just off to the side a little – just like Andromeda taught him. He placed his left hand on Hermione’s waist and chuckled a little as she flinched and gasped. “Relax – it’s just the two of us.”

“But-“ She began hesitantly, her eyes darting around at the throng of people either watching or preparing to dance.

“Ignore them – just focus on me.”

The music began softly, the slow, melodic tones of the Cellos and Violins opening the song. Harry stepped backward, gently leading Hermione. He smiled at her and made a point of keeping hold of her gaze – the less she focused on her own feet, the more she would relax and all him to guide her.

After a minute, he felt her posture relax a little and so they began to move a little quicker – Hermione laughing merrily as they spun about the dancefloor in time with the music. As a child, he had hated having to learn to dance with Andromeda – he had wanted to spend his time with Neville, or reading in the library, or even flying a broom. Now though, he was glad he was able to spend the time with his bushy-haired friend, who’s hair, he noted, wasn’t all that bushy anymore.

It was thick, and still wild – but it was beginning to tame itself a little into wavy ringlets, though he still noted that it reached the middle of her back. For a brief moment, he tried to imagine himself with hair much like Sirius’s – black, but curly. He barely suppressed the shudder that ran through his body. Hermione looked lovely with it and doubted very much that he would manage the look.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked with a grin as they spun once more.

“Just thinking.” He replied with a chuckle.

“What about?”

“What I would look like with curly hair.”

Hermione’s face scrunched up a little – no doubt picturing the image in her head. She shook her head as Harry grinned. “Never change your hair Harry – I can’t imagine you’d look half as pretty.”

Harry snorted at the familiar teasing. “You’ve been spending too much time with Daphne.”

“We’re of a like-mind.” Hermione replied with a sniff, though he did notice the subtle twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m sure. And what, pray tell, would you be of a like-mind about?”

“It’s worth putting up with you, _and_ your pretty hair, to spend time with Clara.” Hermione grinned at him cheekily.

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. “I knew it – you’re all just using me to spend time with the goose.”

Hermione gently swatted at his shoulder. “You be nice to her – she’s a majestic creature that’s been saddled with a troublesome wizard.”

“Troublesome? Coming from the witch that set a professor on fire?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow as a smirk spread across his lips. “Hermione Granger, allow me to introduce you to the pot and kettle.”

She stuck her tongue out at him for a moment, in a rare display of childishness – who was this, and what had they done to Hermione? He laughed merrily as she gently tugged at a loose strand of his hair. “I did that to save _you_ from falling.”

“And I thank you for it every day, my Lady.” Harry grinned, inclining his head ever so slightly. For the first time, the pair of them came to a slow halt at the side of the dance floor, and Harry noticed just how few people were left dancing – had they danced multiple songs away?

He cleared his throat as he blinked, bringing both himself and Hermione back to the world around them, it seemed. He grinned as he offered her the crook of his arm as he led her back to the table. Hermione, it seemed, was worn out if the heavy breathing were any indication and the red flush on her cheeks.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Hermione – perhaps we can dance again later?” He asked as they arrived at the table. Neville and Tracey were already sitting there, though the adults – the Greengrass’s and the Granger’s, were on the dance floor.

“I’d like that, Harry.” Hermione replied, her lips pursed a little, though the rosy tint was still on her cheeks. He grasped her hand light, bowed a little at the waist and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

“I look forward to it then.” Harry grinned as he stood back up. “Now, I believe _someone_ has been waiting for me to ask them since they got here.” He chuckled, looking at Astoria who was bouncing in her seat excitedly.

He held out a hand to her, and before he could blink, she was out of her chair and dragging him to the dance floor once again. Harry laughed merrily as her Piper chased after them, though he remained at the edge and seemed content to watch.

The two began spinning and laughing. Harry asked how she had been since he had left for Hogwarts, though he knew most of it already – Astoria always made sure to include a letter for Harry in any letters she exchanged with Daphne. He kept them all in a small wooden box inside his trunk.

She told him of all the adventures she had gotten up to over the summer – of how she’d found Piper alone and hungry on the edge of the estate, hidden under a bush. Apparently, she’d been chasing down no less than three Griffin’s, each the size of Blackwall before she’d found him.

“ _Huge_ , they were!” She grinned up at him.

“I’m glad you were there to prevent them coming after me – how ever will I thank you, hm?” Harry smiled as he spun them once more.

“It was the least I could do after you sent me the Hippogriffs! I feed and water all of them – Stavros is the greediest, but Artemis is the boss of him. She makes sure to keep him in line.”

“Are you going to try and sneak them all into Hogwarts when you come next year?” He chuckled, imagining her dorm room covered in the many, _many_ plush toys he’d gifted her over the years.

“Do you think I could?” She gasped, her eyes widening in excitement. “Oh, I might even be able to get Daphne to sneak some in too!”

“ _Merlin_ , what have I done?”

“The _Gods’_ work, that’s what.” Astoria nodded resolutely, as that familiar glint appeared in her eye. Harry tried not to cringe – nothing good ever came from that glint.

The song ended, and Harry had to lead a protesting Astoria from the dance floor, her loyal familiar yipping at their feet – though, once they arrived back at the table, it wasn’t to Astoria that the kit ran to. Instead, it hopped into Hermione’s lap and rolled onto its back, its paws swiping at the loose strands of hair as she leaned over, fussing it, and scratching its belly.

“Is that… a bowtie?” Harry asked after a moment, noticing the accessory for the first time. He glanced at Astoria who had quickly made her way to Hermione’s side as they both cooed over the creature.

“Of course – it’s a wedding. I wasn’t going to let him come looking like a _barbarian_.” Astoria scoffed as she looked at him for a moment.

“Oh, he’s simply precious.” Hermione cooed, giggling as the fox tilted its head just enough to have its tongue hang out the side of its mouth.

“Potter – you owe me a dance.” Daphne commanded as she stood, gripping his arm, and pulling him away from the table in one smooth motion. He stumbled back a few steps before he managed to twist and right himself.

“Easy now Daphne – there’re witnesses about.” Harry muttered, his eyes sweeping the many guests around them.

Daphne scoffed as she placed her hand on his left shoulder and gripped his right. “If I have to suffer another heir or second son who thinks they can sweet talk me, I’m going to go on a rampage.”

“So, now I’m being used as a shield? Hardly seems fair.”

“You catch on quickly, Harry.” She replied slowly, patting his cheek gently as he frowned. “All that Gryffindor intellect is out in full-force tonight.”

“Don’t forget whose grades are higher. _Morgana_ come again you may wish to be, but you’ll have to beat that _Gryffindor intellect_ first.” He snickered, watching as she rolled her blue eyes. “Any in particular you’re using me to shield yourself from?”

She was quiet for a moment as her eyes glanced over his shoulder. “Malfoy’s attempted to _charm_ me twice this evening already.”

“ _Malfoy_? I thought he mostly kept to himself and his shadows?”

Daphne shrugged her shoulders slightly as she pursed her lips. “Something has obviously changed – he waltzed around the Slytherin Common Room as if he owned it at the end of the year. Made a comment or two towards Tracey on the last day.”

“He _what_?” Harry growled. He was about to turn around when Daphne gripped his shoulder forcefully.

“Tracey is a big girl, and everyone in Slytherin knows she’s under my protection – and by extension, yours.” Daphne replied with a pointed look. “We can handle ourselves.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He muttered, briefly scowling at the blonde heir to House Malfoy.

“Aye, we shouldn’t – but this is the life we have. We’ll deal with it in our own way – the _Slytherin_ way.”

“You can be scary sometimes, you know.”

“Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.” She smirked, her eyes sparkling with humour. A light tap on his shoulder caused them both to stop moving.

“Lord Potter, may I steal a dance with the lovely Heir Greengrass?” Neville grinned cheekily, bowing low with a flourish.

“ _Merlin preserve me_.” He heard Daphne groan, though there was no bite to it. He chuckled and stepped back and gave a wink to his two friends before he left them to enjoy their dance.

He was halfway to the table when Andromeda appeared before him, gently steering him back to the dance floor. “If you think you’re not having a dance with your favourite aunt, you’re a sorely mistaken young man.”

“You’re my _only_ aunt.” Harry scoffed.

“And by definition, your favourite.” She replied evenly. They danced easily with one another, Harry earning a pair of wiggled eyebrows from Remus as they passed – the old Marauder dancing with Lady Fern, a Vassal house of House Black.

As they moved, Harry noted the eyes that were trailing after him and his aunt. For as long as he could remember, the looks had followed her – though, apparently, it bothered him more than it bothered her. He could understand it, objectively. Andromeda was one third of the infamous _Black Trio_ – Bellatrix and Narcissa being the others.

All three were said to have been beauties at school. Bellatrix had been the oldest and had died in _Azkaban_ when he was but a child, and Narcissa, the youngest, seemed older than her years – though still a beauty. Andromeda, the middle-child, by comparison was other-worldly. Her heart-shaped face retained its youthfulness, and her figure drew many a wizard – and witches – eye.

“How’s Narcissa?” Harry asked. He’d had few interactions with the woman over the years, but each one had left a sour taste in his mouth. There was a reason that Harry only considered Andromeda family out of the two of them.

“Same old, same old, I’m afraid.” Andromeda sighed as she stepped in time with the music. “Still bitter over Lucius, I think.”

It had been a shocking bit of news at the time, according to Arcturus – positively scandalous. It was well known that House Malfoy was _Noble_ , and not _Ancient and Most Noble_ – for a daughter of House Black, even one not from the main line, to be betrothed and married into a lesser house had been a shock, to be sure. Cygnus had leapt to the side of the Dark Lord during the war and bartered Narcissa off to Lucius in a bid to strengthen his own position.

When Andromeda had run off with Ted, a Muggle-born wizard she had met in her final two years of Hogwarts, the media couldn’t have cared less. Cygnus, however, had been apoplectic, and had cast Andromeda from the family – despite the fact that he lacked the ability to do so, both magically and legally, as both Arcturus and Sirius lived.

Andromeda had always been kind to him, and in a lot of ways, she had been something like a mother figure when he had been small – though she hadn’t quite managed to fill that void, nor would she ever try. Sirius had often teased him, with how Andromeda doted on him – Ted had always claimed he was like a second child to them, a younger brother for Nymphadora.

He loved his cousin immensely – she was clumsy, more than a little brash, loyal, and dedicated. He had been terribly sorry to see her graduate the summer before his first year, but now, she was well on her way to becoming an Auror – Amelia had even taken her under her wing.

He caught sight of the _Metamorphmagus_ out of the corner of his eye, dancing with some Lord or another. It seemed Andromeda had also seen as she made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat as they spun.

“She’ll be fine.” Harry murmured, squeezing his aunt’s hand a little.

“I know – but she’s still my little girl, even if she doesn’t look like it most of the time.”

Harry scoffed, remembering the last time he’d seen Dora – her hair had been bright pink, and she’d resembled neither of her parents all that much. He knew she had a hard time – everyone always wanted her to look like someone else, or to change a part of her physically. As a result, she often shifted her body to reflect her mood, or what she fancied looking like on any given day.

Personally, Harry preferred her _actual_ appearance – the one that was almost a spitting image of his aunt, though he wouldn’t deny seeing Dora with a pig snout wasn’t hilarious.

“Even you,” Andromeda added after a moment, lightly pinching his cheek. “You’re growing up far too quickly – you need to stay my little boy for a while longer.”

“You’re just upset I can’t sit on Ted’s shoulders anymore.” Harry scoffed. “I lost count of how many photos you took of us doing that.”

“Not nearly enough.” Andromeda huffed as she tugged at a strand of his hair. “I do miss your short hair – sticking up in every direction. It was adorable.”

“And _that_ is why I don’t have short hair anymore. I’m to be a Lord of a House – can’t be looking _adorable_. My Bannermen will laugh me out of my castle.” Harry snickered as Andromeda chuckled.

“Harry Potter – the _Adorable_ Lord of Rosestone Castle.” His aunt teased with a wink.

He grimaced after a moment. “That’s going to stick for a while, isn’t it?”

“Possibly.” She replied with a shrug.

“You’ve been giving Daphne lessons, haven’t you? There’s no way that’s all her.”

Andromeda laughed quietly as they passed the Abbott’s. “Dear boy, that girl needs no lessons from the likes of me – she’s a force all unto herself.” She paused before leaning forward a little. “I hear she graced you with a _hug_ this year.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you even start – I see how you get with Dora.”

She had the audacity to _pout_ – no wonder she and Sirius got on so well. “Would you deny your favourite aunt the opportunity to play matchmaker for her only nephew?”

“Yes.” He replied immediately, smiling lopsidedly.

“You’ve spent _far_ too much time with Sirius.”

“I think we can both agree on that.” Harry chuckled as she lightly swatted his shoulder. Slowly, the song died down, and Harry bowed and offered her his arm, only for another wizard – one much older than himself, to ask Andromeda for a dance.

Andromeda agreed, and found herself swept further onto the dance floor before she could blink, while Harry simply remained where he was, chuckling. He watched for a moment or two as the dance began, before heading to the table with his friends – all of them talking animatedly with one another, though Astoria seemed to have curled up and drifted off to sleep against her mother’s side, Piper cuddled to her chest.

He sat down next to Hermione and quickly poured himself a small goblet of sweet mead from one of the jugs in the middle of the table. At Hermione’s questioning look, he shrugged.

“It’s mine anyway – straight from the cellars of Rosestone.” He grinned. “And we’re celebrating! Not every day Sirius will get married – despite his deepest wishes, perhaps.” He added, chancing a look over his shoulder at the high table, where Sirius and Amelia were sat whispering things to one another.

“But you’re so young!” Jean protested.

“Oh, it’s watered down for the children – you could drink it by the jug and likely not get drunk before the sun comes up.”

“By the jug, you say?” John asked, reaching a hand towards the closest. Jean slapped his hand and gave him a very _Hermione_ -like look as he retracted it with a huff. He noticed Hermione looking a little proud of her mother and chuckled to himself.

“Tell you what, I’ll make sure a cask is delivered to you over the next few days, John.” Harry grinned, raising his goblet a little.

“A _cask_?” John blinked; his eyes wide.

“Aye – there are hundreds beneath Rosestone. Wine’s, ales, mead’s, cider’s, and beers. I’ve been giving them to various places on my lands over the years – the wine, mostly. Can’t begin to imagine how my ancestors could stand the stuff.”

“Wines?” Jean asked slowly, and the huff from Hermione almost set him into a fit of giggles.

“Aye – there are some casks a few hundred years old. I can send one of those to you as well, if you’d like?” Harry offered, sipping at his drink a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astoria kick her leg slightly in her sleep.

“Trying to buy our affection with alcohol? I’m almost proud.” John grinned, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders and placing a loving kiss upon her temple.

“So, what did you think of your first wizarding wedding?” Harry asked, looking between the three Granger’s. They paused for a moment as a young boy, only a year or so younger than himself asked Tracey for a dance, and they watched them leave.

“It was absolutely fascinating – I had no idea wizards and witches had their own religion!” Hermione gushed. “And their vows – they were lovely!”

He chuckled, placing his goblet on the table before him. “Aye – we’ve our own pantheon of Gods, though their origin has been lost over time.”

“Do you follow them? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention their names.”

“No – though there are those that do. I know the stories and such, they make up a lot of our children’s stories, you see. But no, I’m not a follower.” Harry replied, watching as the three digested the information.

“I take it that it’s not that prevalent anymore then?” Jean asked, leaning into her husband – he didn’t blame their tiredness. The hour was late, and the sun would be rising shortly, no doubt.

“It’s more widespread than you would think, I suppose – we just don’t make a big deal about it the way your cultures do. Meaning no disrespect, of course!” Harry added, his eyes wide – though the chuckling of John and Jean alleviated a lot of his worries.

“None taken, Harry.” John grinned. “So, do many – what do they call Hermione’s kind again?”

“Muggle-born.”

“Right – do many Muggle-born convert to this religion then?”

“No, honestly. Muggle-born make up a fairly small amount of our population as a whole – many don’t make much effort, beyond the superficial, to integrate with us. Most live in the Muggle world, but _work_ in the magical.” Harry sighed with a sad shrug. “It’s a shame, but I can understand it.”

“What do you mean?” Jean asked, tilting her head a little. He noticed Hermione sitting a little closer to him – no doubt she was also just as curious.

“Muggle-born are raised in your world for the first decade of their lives, and so have that foundation. Then, at age eleven, they’re introduced to a foreign culture they’re told they’re now a part of. I imagine it’s quite scary for most.” He replied with a sad smile. “It’s no surprise they’d like to surround themselves with something they know.”

“That makes sense.” Hermione murmured with a slow nod. “So that means someone like me – it’s rare for us to be at an event like this?”

Harry nodded, “Especially for an Ancient and Most Noble House.”

“That’s… sad.” Hermione replied, quietly as she looked around. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is.” He replied, sweeping his gaze around the tent. “I’m glad you could all make it, though – I hope Clara wasn’t too put out?”

“Oh, she was a dear! Hermione mentioned you had a Phoenix, but to actually _see_ one.” John grinned, his eyes briefly losing their focus as he remembered the bird.

Harry chuckled and picked up his goblet for another mouthful of the drink. There was a quiet chime that echoed around the tent – the signal for the last dances before the sunrise.

He stood and held his hand out to Hermione. “I believe we have another dance?”

“I believe we do, Lord Potter.” Hermione grinned at him – though there was definitely an excitement in her that hadn’t been there before. He rolled his eyes at his title, though.

They meandered their way through the tables, though this time it seemed Hermione insisted on holding his hand rather than his arm. He would admit it was easier to navigate the tables.

They took up their positions once again, and soon they were off, laughing and joking with one another as they stepped and spun among the other couples. Though, as this was a more formal dance, there was a brief shriek from Hermione when it was time for him to briefly lift her from the floor.

He laughed as she swatted at his shoulder as she glared at him, but there was no heat to it. “You could have warned me!”

“I did – I distinctly remember saying, ‘ _I’m going to lift you now_ ’.” He replied cheekily, ignoring her flick between his eyes. “It’s your own fault for saying, ‘ _What_?’”

“It is not!”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Are we really doing this?” Harry chuckled, spinning the two of them clockwise as they passed both Amelia and Sirius, who were lost in their own little world.

“It is a perfectly reasonable way for an argument to be won.” Hermione sniffed, tilting her chin in the air a little.

Harry scoffed and decided not to answer – he’d had too many arguments with Sirius that had devolved into that familiar back and forth.

The music died down and they came to a stop, watching as the crowd parted for the newly wed couple as they made their way to the outside of the tent, just as the first rays of the sunrise crested the horizon.

The entire party, merry off of food, drink and celebration clapped uproariously as the new couple welcomed the first day of their union.

Somewhere amongst the noise, he felt Hermione lean into his ear as she said, “I’m really glad you invited me, Harry – it’s been wonderful.”

He glanced at her, his grin wide as he replied, “Me too, Hermione. Me too!”


	24. Harry XVI

Harry stepped into the Leaky Cauldron in a burst of green flame and ash, his nostrils flared and his magic itching to be released in the back of his mind. His fingers twitched, the wild currents of his innate power tickling his fingertips.

His entire body shook with unreleased, wild _power_ , and the occupants of the dark, dingey pub had no idea. How many times had he risked losing control of his magic for one reason or another? When he was a small child, of course – but the need for control was so innate and ingrained, it terrified him to even think about letting it slip for a moment.

He stood there, feeling strangely detached from his body as he glanced around at his surroundings. There were the usual off-duty Aurors, and the occasional elderly wizard and witch, slumped at some dark table in a corner, either passed out from the copious amounts of alcohol or hunched over their copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

At the bar, Tom briefly looked up from where he was wiping the counter-top with a dirty cloth. He’d sat at that bar with Sirius and Remus once or twice, and for a brief moment, he could feel the sticky table-top beneath his fingers.

“Ah, Mister Potter, sir!” Tom grinned, nervously stepping away from the bar. He was thankful that the noise of the pub drowned out the barkeep, though the occasional pair of eyes began to slowly turn in his direction.

“Tom.” He replied with a single nod as he stepped away from the Floo, his fists clenched at his side. Behind him, the familiar rush of flame reached his ears and the few loose strands of hair billowed forward as the room was momentarily illuminated by the green flames.

“Tom!” Sirius’s voice called from immediately behind him – Harry grimaced at Sirius’s hand clamping down on his shoulder.

“Yes, Mi’lord?”

“Is there a private room available?”

The ancient looking man nodded as the Floo released Remus, who quickly flicked the small gatherings of soot from his gambeson before stepping to the other side of Harry, his hand clamping down on his free shoulder like a vice.

Tom stepped out from behind the bar, deftly avoiding his pet Kneazle that was lounging on the floor – in fact, Harry would have thought it a statue if not for the lazy rise and fall of its chest and the single yellow eye that opened at his owners bustling.

As they walked through the pub, weaving around tables and chairs – some empty and others with curious occupants – Harry couldn’t help but feel the mounting dread form in the bottom of his stomach. He’d glanced at Sirius and Remus once as they had meandered around a table of three Aurors, and both men had been sternly looking at Tom.

The barkeep stopped by a door that Harry had never noticed before, the brass handle seemingly appearing out of nowhere in the wall beneath the stairs. He nodded to the aged man and opened the door quickly and stepped through, not bothering to wait for Sirius and Remus.

He glanced around the small space, taking in the dusty oak panelled walls, the dark candlestick holders and the grimy looking tables and chairs – the room didn’t look like it had received use in a decade, but he knew that to likely be incorrect. Despite the popularity of the pub, and its regular, frequent use, it was always shockingly dirty.

The sound of the door clicking behind him caused his head to turn, watching as Sirius gave a quick flick of his wand before rounding on him, his dark eyes furious – Remus too, looked just as angry as he stood by the door with his arms across his chest.

“I raised you better than that, Harry!” Sirius bellowed, striding across the room as Harry slumped into a chair and stared at the table with narrowed eyes. He couldn’t help but note the occasional knots in the long, dull planks.

He said nothing, instead, he simply continued to glare at the wood, idly tracing a knot with a finger on his right hand.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Harry James Potter!” Sirius growled, slamming his hands on the table in front of him. The entire table shook with the force of it, and a small cloud of dust shot into the air in a white cloud. Harry jumped a little, his eyes finally darting up to look at Sirius.

“What do you want me to say?” Harry growled, quickly getting over his shock, that cold fury still coiled tightly in his stomach – his magic whispering to be unleashed in the back of his mind. Once more, he found his skin tingling with barely controlled magic, and the entire room felt suddenly charged with power.

Sirius, either not noticing Harry’s struggle, or unafraid that he would come to harm, stood his ground, and continued to glare at him.

“I _want_ you to understand that you just acted like a spoilt, petulant child, and _not_ the boy I raised.” Sirius growled. Even through his anger, Harry could sense the unrestrained fury in Sirius – his own magic was roiling just beneath the surface.

“I won’t apologise! He said _nothing_ , Sirius – _nothing_!” Harry snapped, launching himself to his feet as his fists trembled at his side. The desire to break something, to scream and yell burned within him, almost painfully.

“So that’s what this was all about?” Remus asked from the door. His face was still contorted in a scowl, and his arms were still folded across his chest, but there seemed to be something different in his voice.

“Of course it is! He…” Harry paused, his voice catching in his throat. “He is supposed to support me – how is he doing that by remaining silent! He _knows_ I won’t stand for it.”

“That isn’t the bloody point, and you know it!” Sirius bellowed as he threw his arms in the air and turned away with a scoff. “I should take you back to Blackwall and confine you to your room until you leave for Hogwarts!”

“Sirius…” Remus began with a sigh as he rubbed his forehead.

“No, don’t you _Sirius_ me!” Harry’s godfather snapped, pointing a finger at Remus. “Today was supposed to be a treat – I see no reason why he should still receive it.”

“I _will not_ stand by when my mother is referred to as _fouling_ my bloodline!” Harry screamed, and for a brief moment, his magic flared, upending every piece of furniture in the room as he stood there breathing heavily. Even as he stood there, looking at the shocked faces at Sirius and Remus, he felt the corners of his eyes take on that familiar blue hue – he clamped his eyes shut.

“He should have said something, but he didn’t. She was my _mother_ – I’ll not hear a word against her.” He said quietly after a moment, his entire body trembling. “She gave her _life_ for me. I owe her _everything_.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw what remained of the room. The table was in pieces, as were the simple chairs and small tables lining the walls. A cloud of dust hung lazily just above the floor, and the candlesticks were so warped, they were barely recognisable.

He found himself stumbling backwards until his back bumped into the wall behind him, and his legs gave out beneath him. He refused to allow any tears to fall – he was stronger than that. He sniffed and leaned his head back against the oak panelling behind him, the knot of his hair at the back of his head offering some small padding.

“Would you have had me say nothing?” Harry asked after a moment. “Say nothing to the man that I thought would always protect me and mine?”

“Harry,” Remus began, walking forward slowly. “There was nothing Arcturus could have said in that moment, you have to understand that.”

“Of course there was – he could have had him thrown from the estate. _Merlin_ knows I nearly did.”

“He could have, yes, but acting in the way you did was unnecessary and little more than a child throwing a temper tantrum.” Remus continued, kneeling down before him on the floor. “You know neither of us would stand for Lily being called that either.”

Harry glanced up at Sirius, who nodded slowly, though his lips were still pursed, and his arms folded across his chest.

“Did it occur to you that Arcturus is just as adept at politics as he was on the battlefield during the Grindelwald war?” Remus asked, causing Harry to scoff and turn his head to the side as he pulled his left knee to his chest, his right remained stretched out in the dust.

“I won’t have you making excuses for him – he should have said something.”

“Aye, and if it were either of us, we would have. Arcturus held Lily in high regard, Harry – he wouldn’t have let the comment go unanswered, but you didn’t allow him the opportunity.” Sirius answered, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“You think I _wanted_ to do that?” Harry snapped, frowning. “I… I just _acted_ – I just get so _angry_ , and I can’t let it go!”

Harry watching as Sirius and Remus shared a pointed, private look between themselves. After a moment, Sirius turned away, rubbing at his jaw with a wince while Remus chuckled quietly under his breath.

“ _That_ would be your parents’ temper, Harry.” Remus said softly, shifting his weight to his other knee. Harry noticed the cloud of dust was even closer to the floor now, most of it having settled on the dirty wooden floorboards.

“Lily was quick to anger, and James’ cold fury – the man could hold a grudge for years.” Sirius snickered in spite of his still hot temper. “Lily usually just settled for setting people on fire.”

“I don’t want to be angry – I mean, I _do_ want to be angry with Arcturus, but I don’t at the same time.” Harry sighed after a moment, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. His limbs felt like lead, even his eyelids felt heavy.

“We understand that, but you _can’t_ act the way you just did – you need to be more mindful of your actions, intended or not.” Remus said gently, placing a hand on his knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“You realise that it’ll be you who has to set Arcturus’s study back to right when we return?” Sirius said, finally placing his hands on his hips as he huffed out a breath.

“Aye – I’ll see it done, but I’ll not apologise for doing it. It was bad enough he was entertaining a betrothal contract – I’ll not apologise for reacting in that way when it comes to my mother.”

“I detested mine, so I’m useless in this – this is all you.” Sirius grunted, nodding at Remus.

Remus rolled his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, Harry felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Harry, you _must_ apologise – upending Arcturus’s study because you overheard something you dislike is unbecoming of you as the next Lord Potter. We’ve all raised you better than that, and you know it. Being stubborn like this serves no one.”

In a moment of childish stubbornness, Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked away from the two adults. “I don’t want to.” He murmured.

“It’s often the things we don’t want to do, that we find ourselves doing.” Remus chuckled. “It’s easy to forget you’re so young sometimes. You’ll understand it more when you’re older.”

There was a heavy silence, the soft ticking of a clock somewhere in the room the only sound to be heard. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, slumped against the wall, but at some point he felt the anger leave him in a great rush, his shoulders, which had been tight with tension, finally drooped and he nodded his head slowly.

“You’re right – I’ll apologise.”

“Good lad.” Remus smiled, his moustache twitching as he smiled. He then clapped Harry on the knee before pushing himself to his feet and patted Sirius on the arm as the two of them switched places. He hated it when they teamed up like this.

“You know you’re going to have some sort of punishment, don’t you?” Sirius said, leaning against the wall next to him.

“Aye.” Harry sighed, picking at the edge of his gambeson.

“What do you think is a suitable punishment?”

Harry shrugged, not really able to offer anything. In a few days he’d be leaving for Hogwarts – what could he say? No flying for two or three days? “I’ll accept whatever you think is suitable.” He said at last, switching his attention from his gambeson to the hilt of his sword the was now angled awkwardly across his chest.

“What do you think, Remus?” Sirius asked, cocking a brow at the other man.

“No books for the next few days would be a good start.”

“Excellent – no books until you leave, and no flying either.” Sirius said, clapping his hands.

“What about all this?” Harry asked, gesturing to the room around them. A candle fell from the candelabra that hung from the ceiling, it was still swaying back and forth slowly and only a single rope remained intact to keep it attached to the ceiling.

“I think it looks better this way, honestly.” Sirius shrugged, a small smirk on his lips.

“I lost control.” Harry muttered, staring at the floor.

“You did – but nobody is in control all the time, Harry. You’re human, and still a child at that.”

He glanced up, looking at the destruction in the room. He knew that many of the pieces of furniture were beyond repair – there was one small table on the right-hand side of the room that had been reduced to splinters under his magic. While he had gained some measure of control over the last year at Hogwarts, it still wasn’t enough.

“What if I hurt someone next time?” He asked, blinking up at Sirius and then to Remus. “I don’t want to risk hurting anyone.”

“You won’t.” Sirius replied.

“But-“ He began, his throat tight.

“You won’t.”

Harry could only nod as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, swiping at the dust that had gathered on his armour and the trousers he wore beneath the gambeson. He winced as his pats created new clouds of dust and a small cough escaped his lips.

“We’ll clean ourselves in the courtyard – no use doing it here.” Remus chuckled, waving a hand in front of his face. Harry nodded and straightened his armour and clothes before nodding at the two adults.

Both patted him on the shoulder before leading the way from the room. Once back in the corridor, he noticed the sounds of the pub had returned, and vaguely remembered Sirius quickly waving his wand as they had first entered – no doubt ensuring their privacy.

Eyes followed the three of them, no doubt curious as to why they were covered in so much dust and the change in their demeanours, but Harry couldn’t care less. After all, he had thoroughly ruined the day he’d had planned. He was to meet his friends in Diagon Alley, he thought it would be fun to tag along with them in shopping for school supplies – he’d already sorted his own out the previous week.

He stood and waited patiently as Sirius approached Tom, talking quietly over the bar while the other staff went about handing out drinks to the various patrons. One woman, in her mid-twenties, if Harry had to guess, smiled coquettishly at Remus – though he didn’t seem to notice.

Tom’s face turned red and for a moment he glared at Harry, and he found himself shifting awkwardly from foot to foot under the intense gaze. Harry watched as Sirius snapped his fingers in front of Tom’s face, pulling his attention back to him before passing a small pouch over the counter – no doubt to pay for the damages. Harry also suspected it was a great many times more than it would likely cost for those repairs.

Tom nodded eagerly, snatching up the pouch and quickly flicking it open to check its contents. Once satisfied with the amount, he gestured for them to move towards the back of the pub and toward the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Harry frowned, looking between the two adults – he understood cleaning themselves in the courtyard, but neither of them had purchased any Floo Powder. Surely it would have made sense to purchase it now, rather than approach the bar once again?

They stepped into the warm courtyard, the sun high in the sky with not a cloud to be seen, and Harry found himself breathing in the clean air gratefully. While the smells of the Alley and of London as a whole were not overly pleasant, they were far better than the musty smell of the dingey pub.

The quick tingle of magic on his skin caused him to turn and glance at Sirius, who had his wand out and pointed at him. He glanced down and saw the dust removing itself from his armour and clothes – no doubt from his hair also. It was an odd feeling, being cleaned by magic.

Not a moment later, Remus had removed the dust from himself, and Sirius was likewise returned to a presentable state. “Excellent – shall we go shopping then?” Sirius asked, stowing his wand away in the holster on his right arm.

“What? Shopping? I thought we were going back to Blackwall?” Harry asked, confused. He glanced between both Sirius and Remus.

“Well, I suppose the holy trinity of punishments wouldn’t be complete without forcing you to suffer through Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey’s shopping. Congratulations, you’re their bag-boy for the day.” Sirius grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as Remus chuckled and tapped at the bricks.

Harry watched as the bricks slowly rolled over one another, and small puffs of brick and mortar dust whispered away in the gentle breeze that drifted through the alley. Already, Harry could smell the various herbs and spices that were for sale on the stalls outside stores, the familiar smell of leather and parchment that wafted up from _Flourish and Blotts_ , and of course, the pungent, waxy smell of broomstick polish.

“I think I’d rather go back to Blackwall.” Harry groaned, already imagining all of the bags he would be saddled with throughout the day. “Married life has made you cruel.”

Remus guffawed as he led the way into the Alley, the metal of his gorget glinting in the sunlight. Like Remus and Sirius, Harry had forgone his usual cloak, and had settled for simply wearing his gambeson and gorget. He desperately wished that he didn’t have to wear his armour every time they left the Manor.

Harry walked between Sirius and Remus as they meandered through the large crowds of people bustling from one side of the street to another in a chaotic throng of bodies, and yet, despite it all, there seemed to be some sort of irrational order to it all.

On his left, the crowd surged constantly forward, weaving around stalls and various witches and wizards that were perusing wears outside the stores. On the right, people walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron with large bags laden with purchases. He spotted cauldrons, robes, herbs, food, and all sorts of other wonderous things.

The first store they passed was _Flora and Fauna_ , the apothecary on the right-hand side. The store always drew his attention first – though that was more due to the large hand pouring ingredients into a large, bubbling cauldron above the door that would occasionally spark and let out a puff of green smoke, rather than what the store sold. As they passed it, he caught sight of all sorts of jars of supplies through the window – there were pickled rats’ brains, toad’s feet, powdered asphodel and even a large box of shredded pigeon tongues.

He grimaced and kept walking.

On the left, was _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ , where he had found Hedwig. He stopped for a moment, both Sirius and Remus chuckling between themselves as he paused to fuss the birds. They were magnificent creatures, and a small part of his heart would break every time he saw the birds locked in their cages.

He offered his fingers slowly to a beautiful Tawny Owl that sat upon a wooden perch with a small collar around its leg – no doubt to make sure it didn’t fly off. It gave a soft hoot and nipped at his fingers gently, at first, then, after a moment, it pushed the side of its head against his extended palm. He grinned, stroking the brown feathers gently.

“I don’t think Hedwig would take kindly to you bringing another Owl home, Harry.” Sirius chuckled, stepping out the way of a couple that were animatedly chatting amongst themselves.

“She’s not mine.” Harry chuckled in reply, smiling softly as the bird closed its eyes contentedly. “She’s just a pretty bird.”

The Owl opened its eyes before nipping his wrist.

“Ow! Alright, a _beautiful_ bird, damn it!” He grimaced, watching as the Owl closed its eyes and was content to be pet.

“What is it with you and animals?” Remus sighed, shaking his head a little as Harry turned to look at him. “There’s Clara, who by all rights, fashions herself as _Queen of All Birds_ , and there’s Hedwig – _Merlin_ , don’t get me started on _Hedwig_. How does a bird so small have so much attitude?”

“Hedwig isn’t a fan of Remus, from what he’s told me.” Sirius mock-whispered, making no attempt to be subtle.

“It isn’t because she doesn’t _like_ me – she just assumes _my_ fingers are _food_.” Remus grumbled, causing Harry to laugh. He had never heard any of this and had figured that Hedwig was pleasant with everyone he knew – to imagine her trying to bite Moony’s fingers while he attached a letter to her leg was hilarious.

They moved on soon after, content to simply wander for now. Harry had arranged to meet his friends in Diagon Alley, though, in hindsight, they hadn’t said _where_ they would meet. There was Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Carkitt Market, Pipet Square, Blacksmith Track, Stokemark Walk, and Canlams Plaza.

They were just passing a shop that sold magical instruments – the various instruments playing a soft tune that carried through the thin glass windows at the front of the store, and out into the street that he could _just_ make out above the buzz of the crowd – when Harry spotted a familiar head of brown hair.

It wasn’t frizzy anymore, and indeed, seemed rather tame in comparison to the previous year. Still thick and full of volume, but, instead of sticking out in almost every direction, it fell in loose curls down her back.

He grinned as he spotted her and was about to call her name when she turned to look directly at him – there was no questioning gaze, no confusion. Her eyes locked with his instantly, as if she knew exactly where he was, and for the briefest of moments, he faltered in his step as his magic flared along his skin – beneath his sleeves, he knew his hair was standing on-end. He shook himself and began making his way to his friend.

Hermione, it seemed, had no desire to wait for him to arrive. She took off from the stone steps she had been standing on and ran towards the three of them – distantly, he thought he could hear Sirius snickering behind him.

Hermione was dressed a little differently than she had the entire last school year. In the last year, she had worn thick cardigans, jumpers, jeans, and long skirts – seeing her at the wedding in that long red dress had been a genuine surprise. Now, the thick jumpers and cardigan were gone, instead she raced toward him with a red tartan skirt, knee-high black socks and a light, airy Ravenclaw blue jumper with a white pattern around her neck - over it all, she wore her red lapelled Hogwarts cloak, her large sleeves billowing after her.

“Harry!” She grinned, launching herself at him. He let out a whoosh of air from his lungs and stumbled back a step – in fact, if it weren’t for the steadying hands of Remus and Sirius behind him, he was positive he would have ended up on the ground.

He laughed, his earlier wishes to venture out without his armour forgotten as Hermione’s arms did their best to crush his ribs. She stepped back from him and grinned up at Sirius and Remus, dipping in a brief curtsey to the both of them.

“Sirius, Remus – it’s really good to see you both! How’s Amelia? Is she settling into married life? What about you? Is it everything you thought it would be?” She asked, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as the questions spilled from her mouth.

Sirius chuckled and pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you too, Hermione, and yes, married life is wonderful – you should try it one day.” Harry chuckled as Hermione’s cheeks tinged a slightly deeper shade of red.

Hermione’s head turned back to him, and before he knew it, she’d grasped his hand and was pulling him towards the entrance of _Flourish and Blotts_. “Come one, everyone’s inside – it’s going to start soon!”

“Hermione – wait – damn it, what’s about to start?” Harry managed, ignoring the amused sounds of the two adults behind him as Hermione wove him in and around the throng of bodies by the door. All around them, men, women, and children pushed and shoved at each other, jostling for a better position, or straining to look over the shoulders of those in front of them.

He idly noted that the store was full of mostly women and girls, and the men seemed more than a little reluctant to be there, all with bored expressions on their faces, while the women were almost bouncing in excitement. Harry frowned – what was going on?

“Harry!” He heard his name called from further in the store, toward the front. He turned his head toward the noise and grinned as he spotted Neville waving at him – both Tracey and Daphne on either side of him eagerly looking at a nearby desk that was piled high with books. For the first time in his life, he noticed Daphne _giggling_ with Tracey – he vaguely remembered Daphne giggling in the mirror in January, but it was completely different to see it now, in person.

Harry smiled as they reached his friends, and before he knew it, Neville had swept him up in a hug that lifted Harry clear from the floor. “Neville – can’t breathe!” He grunted, gasping for breath as he was finally released. “What are you all doing in here?”

Neville pulled a face and glanced at the three girls, all who were now clutching various books to their chests and looking excitedly at the door behind the nearby table. Now that he looked closer, he recognised some of the books from his own school supply trip – the entire booklist for Defence Against the Dark Arts was by someone called Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Lockhart’s doing a book-signing in here for a few hours. It’s all they’ve spoken about for the last hour.”

“You’ve been in here for an _hour_?”

“Hey, we wanted a good spot in the queue!” Tracey piped up. “Oh, hi Harry!” She added, almost as an afterthought.

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed excitedly, her book held in a white-knuckled grip – where she’d picked it up from, he had no idea.

Harry glanced around the store once again, remembering the few chapters of _Gadding with Ghouls_ he’d read in an attempt to read ahead before returning to school – it was _awful_. At no point during any of the book did it list the spells used, or the wand movements. How were they supposed to learn from them, other than Lockhart’s love for hair-care products?

The store was a favourite of his – over the years, he’d spent many an hour perusing the shelves for all manner of things. In fact, he had an entire wall of bookshelves in his bedroom dedicated to all the tomes he’d purchased from the store. It had always felt warm and inviting, the musty smell of parchment and ink a favourite of his, and nothing would please him more than running his fingers along the spines of the thousands of spines on the shelves, their gold-embossed titles glittering in the light.

While the store was generally quite dark, in an effort to preserve the volumes from the sunlight, it was still well lit enough to see the hundreds of books stacked on every available surface. There were towers of books that were twice as tall as Sirius, and some even reached as high as the upper floor. Others were stacked on tables or arranged in the large windows.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Molly and Arthur Weasley and their brood, shuffling in through the door in a large mass of red hair. Harry nudged Neville in the side and pointed toward the new arrivals and snickered. “Don’t look now, but the twins just arrived. How long do you think until they get bored and pull something?”

“Fifteen minutes and five Galleons.” Neville chuckled, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.

“I’ll take that bet – I’m calling twenty.”

“Put me down for ten.” Daphne said over her shoulder. When she saw Harry’s surprised expression, she shrugged her shoulders. “What? You’re not as quiet as you think.”

Sirius chuckled behind him, and Harry turned his narrowed eyes upon his godfather. “Don’t make me get Amelia to put you outside in a kennel tonight, _Padfoot_.”

Sirius’s laughter stopped instantly as his own narrowed gaze met Harry’s. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him at this point.” Remus chuckled, leaning casually against a pillar that was holding up the upper floor. “He can be downright Slytherin at times.”

“You take that back.” Harry pouted, turning his head to look at Remus. “I’m so Gryffindor, I may as well be a Lion Animagus.”

“More like a hospital bed.” He heard Daphne mutter. He turned to say something, but at that moment Gilderoy Lockhart appeared through the door with a short, irritable-looking man following him with a large black camera.

Lockhart was wizard of average height with blonde, coiffed hair that, to Harry’s eye, looked a little _too_ perfect. He wore a suit of forget-me-not blue with a silver waistcoat that tastefully complimented it. He smiled an odd sort of smile at the crowd, and a chorus of breathy sighs answered him – even the _girls_ were sighing and fluttering their eyelashes at him. Harry, a horrified expression on his face, turned and looked at Neville.

“They’ve all gone mad.” Neville shrugged.

“Never underestimate the effect of a charming smile, boys – it’ll pay dividends in your futures.” Sirius whispered, winking at the two of them as they turned to look at him.

“What in _Merlin’s_ name is a charming smile?” Neville asked, completely bewildered.

“See how every pair of eyes is on Lockhart? That’s down to that smile he’s using.” Sirius chuckled, lazily pointing at the author, who was waving slowly to his adoring crowd.

“He looks constipated.” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. Just behind him, Sirius seemed to choke on something – Harry glanced over his shoulder at the noise, but Sirius simply waved him off. Remus, it seemed, was trying to stifle his laughter by covering his mouth with a hand.

The man with the camera roughly pushed his way around the table, almost knocking one poor woman over in his haste. “Move, out of the way – this is for the _Daily Prophet_.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the small man – he had a healthy dislike for that particular newspaper. In the first few years of his life, they had bounced off of the Wards of Blackwall on an almost weekly basis until Arcturus had hit the _Prophet_ with a cease and desist. No less than three reporters had tried sneaking thorough the Wards of Blackwall in the days following – all three having enjoyed and extended stay in Saint Mungo’s for their efforts. He had little sympathy for them. They’d all been trying to get a photo of _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ – suddenly, hit with the feeling that it had been a poor idea to enter the store.

Lockhart continued posing for a number of flashes of the camera before his eyes seemed to catch something. Harry followed his gaze and looked to see Sirius shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot behind him.

“ _Shit._ ” Harry muttered. He hadn’t been recognised very often following his scar fading, but if _Sirius_ was recognised, and he was in his company, it usually ended in a headache for the both of them.

“Here we go.” Neville muttered with an amused snort.

“ _Sirius_ _Black_?” Lockhart gasped, his eyes immediately darting to Harry. “And _Harry Potter_?”

Before he could do anything, the reporter had gripped Harry by the shoulder of his gambeson and roughly pulled him forward through the crowd. With his wits returning quickly, Harry flicked his wand into his hand and quickly jabbed it into the throat of the reporter.

“Remove your hand before I remove it for you.” Harry growled, watching as the man’s eyes widened and the entire store gasped collectively. The reporter’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he quickly released Harry. “I would suggest treating those around you with more care also – I believe you owe a number of ladies here an apology.”

“Yes, Mi’lord. Sorry Mi’lord.”

“Don’t apologise to _me_ – apologise to _them_.” He replied, nodding to the women at the front of the crowd.

“S-sorry, ladies – won’t happen again.”

The women, who were all stood with their mouths agape, nodded numbly, though he noticed one little girl, who was clinging to her mother’s leg, sticking her tongue out at the reporter. Harry nodded and flicked his wand back into its holster and turned to look at Lockhart – the man blinking owlishly at him.

“Lockhart, if you don’t mind-“

“Nonsense, Harry – may I call you Harry?” Lockhart said, snapping back to himself after a moment as he quickly walked around the table, his smile back on his face. He continued before Harry could say anything and wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders as he turned to address the crowd. Harry was so tightly clamped to Lockhart’s side, he couldn’t have reached for his wand again if he’d tried.

Harry looked imploringly to Sirius, Remus, and Neville, all who appeared thoroughly amused and weren’t leaping to help him in the slightest. The girls, on the other hand, looked positively _jealous_ – why would they be jealous of him being paraded next to this peacock of a wizard?

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lockhart called loudly. “What an absolutely extraordinary moment this is – we’ve been blessed to witness the reactions of the vanquisher of _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_!”

Harry rolled his eyes and grimaced as there was a flash of light from the reporter. He glared at the weasel of a man.

“This is the perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into _Flourish and Blotts_ today, he only wanted my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present to him now, free of charge.”

The crowd applauded loudly, and he could just hear Sirius’s uproarious laughter among the noise. He glared at his godfather, who was leaning against Moony, clutching his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes. Bastard.

“He had no idea, of course, that he would also be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his fellow school fellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts!”

The crowd cheered once again, and before he knew it, an entire stack of books were thrust into his stomach – if not for the armour, he’d have likely had the wind knocked out of him from the force of it all, and he blinked as a number of flashes went off throughout the room.

Lockhart released him after a moment, and he stumbled, blinking the lights from his vision, back to his group of friends, apparently carrying the entire collection of Lockhart’s work in his arms. He shook his head in an attempt to shake the white spots in his vision away, and he blinked at his friends, who suddenly crowded around him – mostly Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey.

“Harry, you’re so _lucky_!” Tracey gushed, looking at all of the books in his arms.

“You _have_ to let me borrow one of these at some point, Harry.” Daphne sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the leather of the top volume.

“Isn’t he _wonderful_?” Hermione sighed dreamily, looking over Harry’s shoulder at the man who had now returned to his place behind the table, a quill in hand as he sat down with a flourish. All throughout the store, witches rushed to form a queue, knocking and shoving one another in their haste.

“What just happened?” He asked, confused, looking around the room for a moment.

“Lockhart just gave you his entire collection, of course!” Daphne sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Honestly, Potter, weren’t you paying attention _at all_?”

“It’s all sort of a blur after the reporter grabbed me, if I’m honest.”

“That was brilliant, by the way – when did you get so quick on the draw?” Neville asked finally, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Oh, uh, _Felix_ taught me.” Harry replied, giving Neville a pointed look for a moment.

“Who’s Felix?” Hermione asked, her head tilted to the left a little as she looked at him. Tracey, likewise, looked just as curious, while Daphne simply nodded knowingly.

“He works for my family – I visited him over the summer. He’s a little protective of me, so I managed to get him to teach me a few things.”

“Oh – that’s ni-“ Hermione began before she paused and frowned. “Wait a minute – were you performing _magic_ over the summer? _Harry_ , you know we can’t do that – we could get our wands snapped! Oh _Merlin_ , you did magic at the wedding!” She gasped, her hand leaping to her mouth.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever remained of his daze, and he chuckled a little. “I won’t get in trouble for doing magic.”

“What do you mean? Of course you will!”

“He’s from a Pureblood family, Hermione – that rule is only enforced for those of us that live among Muggles or come from Muggle families.” Daphne said with a shrug. “It’s not fair, or right, but it is what it is.”

“That’s positively _racist_!” Hermione sputtered, her trade-mark scowl beginning to form on her features.

“What’s racist?” Neville asked, looking between everyone with a confused expression on his face.

“The trace!” Hermione replied.

“No, I mean what does _racist_ mean?”

“Discriminating against or being prejudice against an individual or group and treating them differently or inferior to yourself.” Tracey answered, her own scowl on her face. “It happens a lot in the Muggle world based on skin colour, accent, and religion.”

“People treat others differently in the Muggle world based on skin colour?” Harry blinked, surprised.

“It’s awful – there was a boy in my primary school who was from the Middle-East, and some of the other kids – mostly the boys, actually – kept on bullying him because of his accent. It was horrible.” Tracey sighed, sadly. “Zafar was the nicest boy ever.”

“Nicer than me?” Neville gasped, and Harry rolled his eyes and gave the boy a little shove.

“Everyone is nicer than you, Longbottom.” Tracey scoffed, turning her nose up in the air, her dark ponytail flicking sharply.

“She’s got a point.” Harry chuckled, grinning at his friend. “Now, who wants the books? I’ve already got mine for the year.”

The girls looked at one another for a second, _something_ passing between them as Harry stood there watching them – something heavy knot formed in the pit of his stomach as they turned collectively to look at him, each with dazzling smiles.

“Harry, you know how we’ve known one another the longest…” Daphne began, cocking a brow, her lopsided smile on her lips. Harry narrowed his eyes – he didn’t like where this was going.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” He sighed.

“Well, I just figured, that as your oldest friend out of the three of us, I’d be the natural choice.” Daphne said, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Is this really happening?” He asked, looking at Neville. Neville, it appeared, was just as stunned as Harry felt – his mouth hanging open as he blinked slowly. “You know what? It’s been a long day already, and this is already giving me a headache – it gets split between all three of you.”

Daphne frowned a little as he passed her the top three books, Tracey got the next three, and Hermione got the last four – on the basis that of them all, her school supplies were the most difficult to acquire. Harry was well aware of the poor exchange rate between Muggle currency and the Galleon.

With his arms no longer burdened by the volumes, Harry moved to step away from the crowd that was still surging toward the table. He stepped around a particularly enthusiastic middle-aged woman who seemed preoccupied with tugging the collar of her shirt a little further down.

He stepped toward the front of the store, where the crowd was thinnest, the constant press of bodies and the accompanying heat had made him start to sweat a little under the armour. He grimaced, knowing just how much he was likely to stink when he peeled it off of him when they returned.

Their eventual return to Blackwall gave him pause. He enjoyed the company of his friends, and it had relaxed him a little, but he couldn’t help but still be a little angry over the whole thing with Arcturus. He’d never know how he had managed to keep his mouth shut until the Lord – he had no idea just _who_ said it – had left.

Then, he’d not been able to contain it any longer.

He sighed, remembering how he’d slammed Arcturus’s door open with such force, he’d heard the doorknob snap and bounce on the floor as he’d glared at the Black patriarch. He’d yelled, he’d snapped, and finally, his magic had flared in his anger and Arcturus’s study had been wrecked in a tornado of magic. The desk had been the first thing to go, lifting entirely off the floor and crashing into the ceiling.

Arcturus had said nothing throughout it all – simply stood there with that same blank expression he used during meetings of the Wizengamot, and simply clasped his hands at the small of his back. He hadn’t so much as flinched as the room was wrecked around him; his fine clothes being buffeted by the magical tempest. Sirius and Remus had run into the room at a full sprint, both quickly ducking out the room as one of the couches was flipped over.

Even now, he couldn’t remember what he’d said – it was all a blur, but whatever it was, he’d seen that flash in Arcturus’s dark eyes, even if his face hadn’t betrayed any of it. The next thing he knew, he had stepped into the Floo and gone straight to the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius, and Remus both close behind.

He groaned quietly and briefly placed his forehead against the shelf in the darkened corner he’d managed to steal away to, thankful that at least this small corner was deserted. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, feeling the magic within him roiling and thrashing just beneath the surface.

He took a number of calming breaths, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, but by the time he opened his eyes once again, he felt better – lighter, almost.

He’d apologise to Arcturus the moment they returned to Blackwall. Things likely wouldn’t be as they were for a while – after all, he was returning to Hogwarts in just a few days – but it was a start.

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?”

Harry pushed himself away from the bookshelves and stood to his full height and turned to look at Draco Malfoy. The blonde looked a little taller than the last time he’d paid him any attention, which was some time during Hogwarts – he’d forgotten he’d even existed at the wedding. His hair was still slicked back, and he wore an all-black outfit beneath his green-lapelled Hogwarts cloak.

Draco Malfoy was regarding him with his usual sneer.

“ _Famous_ Harry Potter – can’t even go into a _book-shop_ without making the front page.” Draco continued.

Harry arched his brow and clasped his hands casually in front of him. “Draco – still acting as if you own the place, I see.”

Draco took a step closer to Harry, his pinched face briefly making him appear almost rodent-like. “House Malfoy is one of the most powerful-“

“House Malfoy is _not_ one of the most powerful families, you fool. Your wealth is middling, and your lands are lacklustre – you’re a cadet branch of the main line in France.” Harry interrupted sharply, his earlier anger quickly returning.

“You _dare_ -“ Draco began, reaching for his wand. Within a blink of an eye, Harry’s wand was in his hand and levelled at Draco’s throat.

“If you even _think_ about levelling that wand of yours at me, at least be quicker on the draw, Malfoy.”

“What’s going on over here?” Hermione asked, appearing on Harry’s right – he glanced at her and inclined his head a little in her direction.

“Got yourself a girlfriend, Potter?” Draco managed, his head still tilted away from the tip of Harry’s wand – his voice was shaky and trembling, his mouth tiwisted into an ugly grimace as his face flushed red.

“I’d speak more carefully, if I were you, Malfoy.” Harry snarled, his fingers tightening around the thin piece of wood. “You’re the one currently held at wand-point.”

“He never was particularly intelligent.” Daphne muttered as she joined them, Tracey and Neville at her sides – Sirius and Remus close behind. After a moment, Harry lowered his wand, but not before sharing a look with his guardians.

Draco stumbled back as Harry lowered his wand, though just as he was about to round on Daphne, a black leather glove gripped Draco on the shoulder as a taller, equally blonde man appeared behind him.

Like Draco, Lucius Malfoy had immensely blonde hair, though his was kept loose and flowing down his back. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit and held a black cane with a silver cap on it in his other hand.

“Now, now, Draco – play nice.” Lucius said, his voice silky and contemptuous all at the same time. Harry looked evenly at the man, watching as his pale eyes glanced over him critically.

“Lord Malfoy.” Harry said, his face entirely impassive as he stared back unflinchingly. He’d been in the presence of men and women far more intimidating than _Lucius Malfoy_.

“Lord Potter – so good to see you out among,” Lucius paused, glancing briefly at Hermione, who was scowling up at him, and Tracey, who had an equal look of displeasure on her face. “The people.”

“Careful, Lucius – you’re not half as smart as you think you are.” Sirius warned from behind him, at the very least it seemed to amuse Neville, who snorted quietly.

“Indeed – I hear your intelligence is second to none. Tell me, how was it competing against canines?” Lucius scoffed, and Draco grinned as his eyes remained on Harry – not that he cared particularly one way or another. Draco was an average student at best, whose advantage of having been born into a wizarding family had quickly disappeared as the rest of their class was quickly introduced to the basics throughout the year.

“Lucius, the day I consider you worthy of a witty back and forth, is the day I take the _Dark Mark_ – I might even come to you for advice on that front.” Sirius replied with a roll of his eyes, ignoring the verbal jab and began to lead the children to the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had enough of you for a lifetime already, and we’ve got better things to do.”

“Indeed.” Lucius drawled, though just as Harry was about to pass him, he held his cane out, blocking the way. “Do take the time to enjoy your coming year at Hogwarts, won’t you?”

“Remove your cane before I snap it like a twig, Lord Malfoy.” Sirius growled dangerously, while Harry simply glared at the Malfoy patriarch.

The seven of them stepped out into the street quickly after that, the five of them huddling together in a circle while Sirius and Remus were whispering to one another animatedly while glancing back into the store.

“Well, he’s still a prick.” Neville grunted, shouldering a bag of books. Like Harry, Neville was dressed in his armour, though it was cinched at his waist with that same belt he’d worn to the wedding.

“No wonder Draco’s insufferable.” Tracey muttered, running her hand over her ponytail that, even tied up, reached between her shoulder blades. Unlike Neville and himself, Tracey wore a simple summer dress beneath her Slytherin cloak.

Daphne, while previously would always venture out in armour similar to Harry’s, had now seemingly abandoned that practice, and, instead, opted for finely made dresses. He supposed it had something to do with her getting older and being the heiress to her House – no doubt if Astoria were with them, she’d be in full armour and on the lookout for monsters to slay. Perhaps he should point her in the direction of House Malfoy? They wouldn’t know what hit them.

“That man was foul.” Hermione huffed, folding her arms over her chest – the bag in her hand swaying back and forth.

“You’ll hear no disagreement from us.” Neville shrugged and Harry nodded.

“Here, you three, hand me your bags.” Harry sighed, holding his hand out. The three girls looked confused for a moment, looking at him oddly. “Look, today hasn’t been a good day, and Sirius said I’ve got to carry your bags.” He sighed.

“Seriously?” Daphne asked, her brows shooting up. She didn’t even hesitate before shoving it into his chest. “We get our own bag carrier for the day? I won’t complain.”

Tracey followed quickly after, snickering as Harry shouldered her bag. Hermione, on the other hand, hesitated and worried at her bottom lip. “Are you sure, Harry?”

“It isn’t as bad as you think – now, hand me your bag.”

When she finally handed him her bag, Harry quickly threw it over his shoulder with the others and glanced at Neville. “You can carry your own damn shopping, Longbottom.”

“There’s just no love in this relationship anymore.” Neville sighed, looking at the floor and shaking his head. Tracey giggled, and they all fell into a comfortable silence.

Behind them, through the open door of the store, there was a sudden commotion of shouting and the sound of books toppling over. Above the noise, however, there was a distinct chant of ‘ _fight_ ’, whose dual voices Harry would recognise anywhere.

He sighed and tugged his money pouch open on his belt and pulled out the Galleons and handed them to Daphne – Neville, likewise, quickly placed the golden coins in her outstretched palm. He tried not to think about the smug, lop-sided smile as she counted out her winnings.

“Come on – we should get a move on.” Sirius said, ushering them down the street.

“What’s going on in there?” He asked, looking back up the street to where a number of people were scrambling out of the door.

“Arthur Weasley just punched Lucius.” Remus chuckled, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Wicked!” Neville breathed, grinning.

“Never thought he had it in him.” Sirius chuckled as they passed the entrance to Knockturn Alley. “I’m almost proud.”

“Oh, can we visit _Magical Menagerie_? I need to get some treats for Kiki!” Tracey asked, her eyes wide as she glanced between the group and the store as it approached on the far side of the street.

“I see no issue with it.” Sirius smiled, gesturing for them to go on ahead. Tracey let out a quick squeal before grasping Daphne and Hermione’s hands and darting off.

“If she feeds that thing any more treats, it’ll hardly be able to move.” Neville chuckled, nudging Harry with his elbow. The two shared a laugh as they hurried to follow – already the smell of so many animals together assaulted his senses. It wasn’t a smell he’d ever really been able to describe in any real fashion, but it always distinctly reminded him of the store.

He’d ventured inside a number of times over the years, often with Neville as he purchased something or another for Trevor. It was a dimly lit store, with every available space filled with cages for various Familiars. The store catered to all sorts, from the smallest amphibian, to the largest bovine – Harry even bought Clara’s perches from the store.

He glanced around the room – Tracey was looking at the rodents and whispering things to them as she petted them, a bag of treats already in her hand. Daphne was on the far side of the store fussing over a number of birds – mostly small Hawks, though he did spot a small Raven preening under her attention.

Neville quickly peeled off from him, heading over to the amphibian tanks, no doubt to see about finding Trevor something or another – perhaps a leash, or at the very least a bell so that they knew where he was at all times.

Harry meandered around the store, the usual quiet conversations of the animals just barely whispering into his ears. As he passed an aisle, he chuckled at the sight of Hermione with a cat in her arms – it was a huge ginger thing, though it distinctly looked like a Kneazle in its face. Its yellow eyes stared at him unblinkingly and for the briefest of moments, he felt himself shudder – was that how it felt to be subjected to a Kneazle’s magic? He knew they had the innate ability to judge people, but to actually experience it? He shuddered again – hopefully, it liked him as much as it liked Hermione.

“Oh, Harry – isn’t he just precious?” Hermione asked as he approached, peppering the ginger feline with a number of kisses around its face.

“It’s certainly something, that’s for sure.” Harry replied, raising a brow as he offered his fingers to the creature. The Kneazle sniffed once before it darted its tongue out and brushed the back of his fingers – taking that as acceptance, he carefully scratched the feline just behind the ear, the soft purring as it closed its eyes contentedly causing him to grin. “Just a big softie, isn’t he?”

“He’s _perfect_.” Hermione sighed happily, nuzzling the feline happily.

“Why don’t you buy him?” He suggested. “He obviously likes you – seems like a smart Kneazle.”

“Oh, I _couldn’t_!” She replied with a quick shake of her head. “My parents would _kill_ me – maybe after I’ve talked them into it, if he’s still here.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” Harry grinned as he gave the Kneazle one last scratch under the chin. “I’m going to have a wander – are you going to be okay with the furball?”

“I’ll be fine.” Hermione nodded, nuzzling the Kneazle.

“Just don’t try sneaking him out the store under your jumper.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and knocked his shin with her foot. He chuckled as he stepped around her, heading toward the back of the store slowly. He walked past all sorts of creatures – from the plainest looking puppy, to even a small Demiguise. Harry had to take a second look after he first spotted it, not quite believing his eyes.

He carried on, glancing at all sorts of creatures and products you could buy for them when he finally came to the incubation wall. Rows upon rows of glass cabinets faced him, each with a number of powerful magical enchantments for heat – in fact, he could feel the wall of warm air from the far side of the aisle as the creatures within contentedly sat, soaking it all in.

“ _Sesza hungers._ ” He heard as he approached one of the enclosures – it was furnished well, with a number of branches with bright green leaves, and even what seemed like the entrance to a tunnel system under the dry leaves that made up the base of the enclosure. Occasionally flicking its tongue into the small bowl of water was a gorgeous, red-breasted copperhead viper.

The red-breasted copperhead was different to its mundane counterpart, in that when provoked, this particular species would burst into flame and enlarge itself to twice its usual size – it was a popular Familiar to Elemental wizards and witches with a disposition to fire.

“At least you’re not thirsty.” Harry grinned, kneeling to look at the snake. Immediately, the snake’s head lifted and looked at him. He blinked, watching as the serpent stared at him, its tongue flicking out slowly.

“ _A Speaker has approached!_ ”

All around him, the voices of the snakes called out – he glanced over his shoulder to where he saw Sirius perusing something with Remus, neither of them acting as if they could hear the chorus of voices.

“ _Speaker!_ ”

“ _A Speaker, here?_ ”

“ _So long has it been!_ ”

“ _Ekzaz wishes to see the Speaker!_ ”

“Are you speaking about _me_?” He asked, frowning as he looked about the enclosures – each snake was staring at him, their heads pressed against the glass.

“ _You are a Speaker, are you not?_ ” The first snake asked – the one he’d been watching. “ _You can hear us – speak to us._ ”

“Sure, but surely you have plenty of conversations each day with people.”

“ _They cannot understand Sesza – you are the first_.”

Harry blinked, looking around to see each of the snakes bobbing their heads slowly. They hadn’t met a single other person that could speak to them? Was he losing his mind?

“But I-“ He began, only to startle and jump in the air a little as he felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

“You alright there, Harry?” Neville asked before looking at all the snakes looking at them. “Woah, that’s weird – why are they staring at you like that?”

“I was just talking to them, and-“

“You were _talking_ to the snakes?” Neville asked, the smile gone from his face as he grew more serious than he’d ever seen the boy. “Harry – this is _very_ important – were they talking back?”

“Well, yeah – of course they were.”

“Sirius!” Neville called, waving him over. Harry glanced over his shoulder and watched as both Sirius and Remus hurried over to the two of them, both of them warily glancing at the onlooking snakes as they arrived.

“What’s wrong? Bewitched the snakes, Harry?” Sirius asked, the corner of his lips twitching a little while his eyes darted all around, looking for the reason that Neville called for them.

“No, he was _talking_ to them – and they were talking _back_.”

“ _What_?” Sirius demanded, whirling on Neville – all humour gone from his eyes.

“Show them, Harry – I didn’t hear any of it. I think I came just after he finished speaking.” Neville said, nodding at him encouragingly.

“You’re all mad.” Harry said, his eyes darting between the three pairs of eyes looking intently at him – even Remus was stroking his chin, a habit Harry knew he had when he was thinking intently.

“ _Are the Two-legs bothering the Speaker?_ ” One of the snakes asked, curiously.

“No, they’re not bothering me – apparently they can’t hear you.”

“ _Merlin_ , he _is_ a Parselmouth!” Neville gasped; his eyes wide.

“Remus, I think it best if you go and tell Arcturus right now – he needs to know. The rest of us, I think, will go and get some ice cream and wait for you.” Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before rubbing his temples with both hands.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on? Why is this a problem?” Harry snapped, his frayed temper rearing its ugly head once again.

“It’s not a problem, Harry – not really at least.” Sirius replied as Remus gave a curt nod and began heading toward the door. “You’re a Parselmouth. You can speak to snakes. It’s just a rare gift, but in recent years, it’s been tainted by the reputation of the last well known one.”

“Who was it?”

“Voldemort.”


	25. Hermione II

The Welcome Feast was in full swing as she arranged the food on her plate. All around her, her friends laughed and joked with one another and ate their own platefuls of food. All along the long table, there were mounds and mounds of food, with all sorts of aromas that tickled her senses.

She had treated herself to a curry dish – a Venison Kofta, according to Parvati, one of her dorm-mates. Parvati, with her dark skin, and even darker, sleek black hair, had been giggling in excited whispers with Lavender Brown, another of her dorm-mates when Hermione had reached out to try the dish.

She had hesitated for only a second before carefully ladling the food onto her plate alongside a small portion of rice. In the end, it was an absolutely delightful dish – the venison was rich and tasted magnificent, and she could easily taste the turmeric and clove in the sauce. It was almost enough to tempt her with seconds.

She glanced to her right and smiled as she watched Harry and Neville laugh over something or another. Neville, as always, had opted to sit on Harry’s right, while she took the seat to his left. She didn’t mind the two boys enjoying their conversation – for the first time since the wedding, Harry looked relaxed, and for that, she was glad.

Even on the train, he had been distant and quiet. Perhaps something had happened, or he was simply sad to leave home – she knew she was, and yet, at the same time, she wasn’t.

A year ago, she had been excited beyond measure – a whole new world to learn about and explore, hidden from the rest of the world for centuries, and she had the opportunity to enter it. She had been escorted to the platform by her parents, both worried and just as excited for her as she was.

Then, there was the train ride.

In hindsight, that should have probably been her first clue that all people, in every society, were the same. She had been held apart from her peers at primary school – known as a bossy bookworm that preferred books to other children. Her teachers loved her, and her classmates despised her. No matter what attempt she made to make friends, none would have her.

It had been similar when she had boarded the Express. She had come across a number of students that wore a uniform like Harry and Neville’s – she had smiled and asked a few questions about Hogwarts, but truthfully, she couldn’t remember the questions for love nor money. The scoffs and sneers she had received had etched themselves firmly in her mind, however, and she found herself in a cabin, alone, reading her own copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.

The trip had passed without incident, except for the arrival of one Ronald Weasley and his group of excited students looking for the famed _Harry Potter_. At the time, she hadn’t paid much attention, as it was obvious she was in the cabin on her own, but the name had leapt out at her – she had read all about the famous _Boy-Who-Lived_. The child who had slain Voldemort but had been tragically orphaned in the process.

As a Muggle-born witch, she was incredibly glad to have seen the end of that monster – after all, it was wizards and witches like her that he wished to eradicate. She had immediately drawn the comparison with Adolf Hitler, and the thought terrified her. She knew evil men and women existed – she’d read enough about them in her many, _many_ books – but to know that one had arisen so recently terrified her.

She had told the gaggle of students that she hadn’t seen him, and once again, she’d been left out. Alone, with only the pages of a book to keep her company.

It had remained so until she had climbed aboard the small boat, fully expecting to remain on her own until they arrived at the castle, and yet, a girl and two boys had joined her politely. They had all smiled at one another politely, though in hindsight, hers was likely shyer than she’d intended, but they had all introduced themselves.

Harry Potter.

Harry Potter had joined her in her boat.

She’d been so excited – here was a character from her books, fictional or not, sat right in front of her. A real-life hero of the wizarding world! She’d barely been able to stop herself before she’d said how she’d read all about him. She’d instantly regretted her words, especially when she noticed him shift awkwardly before cuffing Neville across the back of the head.

Her apology, and further clarification on her feelings on the loss of his parents had stunned him, and the rest of the boat ride had been pleasant – especially seeing the castle rise up out of the darkness, the warm pinpricks of orange light dotted about the many, many windows. It had been like something out of one of her books.

Last year’s feast had gone well enough – she’d been sorted into the house of the great Albus Dumbledore, just like she’d hoped. Though, Ravenclaw would also have been nice. The feast had passed quickly, and before she knew it, her first day as a witch had begun.

It hadn’t been pleasant to begin with – she had been bested in a number of ways by Harry, and for the first time in her life, she had been jealous. Harry had such a firm, natural grip on his magic, it was hard to believe he was her own age. Magic responded to him without any struggle, and as a result, he was always the first to grasp new spells. The only time she came close to being better than him was in the theory, and even then, it wasn’t as often as she’d liked.

She felt terrible for it, but in those first two months, she’d revelled in the fact that Professor Snape had found fault with every potion Harry had produced.

Then, there had been the Troll.

Ronald Weasley was an utter arse, not that she would ever say such a thing out loud – he was lazy, arrogant, and infuriating. She’d simply been trying to save herself from whatever catastrophe Ronald would have caused waving his wand back and forth like he had. That he’d gone on to bad mouth her quite publicly and harshly had simply been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

She had run off – she hadn’t been proud of it, but she refused to cry in front of him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And so, she had spent her first Magical Halloween in the bathroom sobbing to herself. She was alone, and the one thing she was good at, she was no longer the best at.

As she had stepped from the cubicle, she had come face to face with a twelve-foot Mountain Troll. Even now, almost a year later, she still had nightmares about it – she could still smell its vile breath as it looked down at her. The whole thing had passed in a blur, but she remembered Harry charging into the room and leaping on the back of the creature without a moment’s hesitation.

She’d screamed in horror when the Troll had thrown him against the wall, and even now, as she closed her eyes and savoured the mouthful of venison, she could hear the crack of Harry’s skull against the marble wall above the din of the Hall.

For a moment, she had thought him dead and her to quickly follow – and then he had moved. At first, he had remained where he had fallen, slumped drunkenly as he vomited and raised his wand defiantly as the Troll advanced upon him. Two red blasts of magic had shot out of his wand, first banishing the Troll through the wall and into the classroom next door, and then a second, launching the club in its wake.

She’d wasted no time, rushing to Harry’s side as his eyes closed. It was the most terrifying moment of her life. Blood had pooled around him, staining his clothes, and making him look ever so pale. She’d rushed out of the room and had been lucky to find Professor McGonagall so quickly – the look of horror on her face, and the anguished cry as she’d taken in the appearance of Harry had kept her up the entire night.

She’d felt so guilty, and in the days following it all, she’d sat by his bed every day, doing the only thing she could think of – reading, though this time, aloud. It was during these visits that she’d met Neville properly, her fellow Gryffindor and Harry’s best friend, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis – both Slytherins and pleasant girls.

Between them, they had arranged to cover Harry’s notes and homework, making sure he didn’t miss a thing. At first, she had been wary of the other children, though, after a time, they were all laughing and joking with one another. Neville had a gift for storytelling, and he’d told many stories of what he and Harry had gotten up to over the years – it was easy to see the bond between the two boys.

Then, two weeks later – Harry had woken up, and for the first time ever, Hermione Granger had _friends_. At first, it had been strange and foreign – she had expected to be excluded from most of what they all did, or at the very least, maybe even the butt of their jokes. Time had proven her assumptions wrong, she was included in everything, and she had never been the butt of any joke – some friendly teasing, of course – but never a joke.

And so, life went on in Hogwarts. Daphne and Tracey attached themselves to Hermione, glad for another girl in their group, and Hermione found a true intellectual in Harry – not that she ever doubted his intelligence, but there was something about the way he made her think about almost everything that tickled the budding scholar inside her. Not to mention, it seemed Harry loved the Library almost as much as she did – how many hours had they all whittled away, their noses buried in books in companionable silence? It had been everything she had ever dreamed of – and it was _real_.

She’d even gone to watch Harry in his first Quidditch match – and it had been a good job she had as well! If she hadn’t burnt Professor Snape’s robes, there’s no telling _what_ could have happened, and honestly, he greatly exaggerated the whole ‘ _setting fire to a teacher_ ’ thing. Boys.

Autumn had passed into Winter, and before she knew it, Christmas had come and gone. Of them all, Harry had been the only one to remain at the castle – last minute duties having cancelled the get-together Harry, Daphne, and Neville had planned over the break. When she had returned, it had been like watching a stranger, however.

Something had been wrong with Harry. He had gone about his days as he normally would, responding to questions and the like, but he seemed so _empty_ – nothing like the boy she knew, who always had a small smile on his face. She’d resolved herself to keep an eye on him, and so, she had eventually managed to follow him to that strange mirror.

When he had snapped out of it, he had looked so confused – so _lost_. It still broke her heart to just think about it, but it had been the right thing to do. He’d recovered quickly, and, in the days that followed, and she had her friend back.

The rest of the year had been uneventful, besides the whole Occamy incident – something she tried not to remember. It had easily been the most terrifying experience of her life, travelling from danger to danger – and of course, Harry had managed to save the day after Daphne and Neville had been hurt.

She didn’t know what had happened after the ceiling collapsed – Dumbledore had refused to tell them anything, and Harry hadn’t been forthcoming with any details, other than he had faced Voldemort once again. The fact that they’d been taught by a man with the evillest dark wizard in recent history in the back of his head had bothered her less than the idea of her friend facing him once more.

Harry had come away with a number of new scars – the most obvious just on the outside of his right eye, slightly cutting through his eyebrow. Personally, she thought it rather suited him – it gave him a rather roguish look. The worst, she knew, was the large one on his side – she’d only seen that the once when he’d lifted his pyjama shirt.

Then, as soon as the year had started – it had ended with nary but a quiet train ride home. She had kept to her books, and talked with Daphne and Tracey – agreeing to, at the very least, allow both girls to give a _little_ advice on how to tame her hair, and even some suggestions for her wardrobe. It had all been in a bid to barter some peace – she had no idea that the two of them would go at it with such gusto.

She’d had a few weeks of relative peace from it, enjoying two weeks of sun in Barcelona with her parents and seeing the sights – they’d even visited the Magical district there, oh, and what a sight it had been! The books, the foods, the clothes, _everything_ had simply been, well, _magical_.

A week into her holiday, she’d had the biggest fright of her life – and her parents’ lives – when Clara had appeared in their hotel room in a burst of flame, a letter held in her beak. She’d been so excited to read it, she’d barely been able to tell Clara to wait for a response as she saw the Phoenix preparing to leave. Her parent’s reactions had been hilarious – her mother’s quiet shock, and her father’s excitement, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She’d written plenty of letters telling them both of Harry’s first Familiar, though, she supposed, it was likely very different reading about it, and seeing one in the flesh – feathers – as it were.

Clara had stayed a while, eating all the raw meat they could feed her, and all the water they could get her – to say that the creature had returned to her wizard spoiled rotten would have been a gross understatement.

Her letter from Harry had been as she expected – he was touring his lands and conducting family business and would be unavailable for the next three weeks. She’d had to stop herself from asking where he was going that an Owl would have been unable to reach him, but instead, she held her tongue and simply said she understood and told him a little about her holiday so far – she’d even sent a photo of the three of them, though her father had pulled a funny face just before the camera had gone off. Even now, she rolled her eyes at his antics – sometimes she wondered which one of them was the child.

Upon her return to England, both Tracey and Daphne had descended on her like vultures. Tracey had decided to take it upon herself to expand Hermione’s wardrobe, while Daphne had decided the arduous task of taming her wild hair.

While she would grudgingly admit that yes, her hair _was_ more manageable now – not that she would ever give Daphne the satisfaction of saying that out loud, of course – and yes, she liked the clothes Tracey had picked out for her, she had despised the shopping trip the two girls had dragged her on.

Her parents had listened to none of her protests, both simply thrilled that she had girls she could count among her friends – traitors, the both of them. As a result, Tracey had dragged her shopping in London, through a number of stores such as _Debenhams_ , _Next_ , _New Look_ , and even _Primark_ – she’d been exhausted by the end of it. Even now, she could see a grinning Tracey shoving jeans, skirts, dresses, and tops into her hands before shooing her off toward the changing rooms, their parents chuckling in the background.

In the end, Hermione had bought a few items of clothing and then it had been Daphne’s turn. At the time, she had thought nothing could have been worse than Tracey – she been so, so, _so_ very wrong.

A small shudder went through her at the memory as she finished the last of her curry.

Hermione had joined Daphne in Diagon Alley the following weekend, her parents following the two of them as they meandered through the street – though, in reality, Daphne had all but dragged her. She’d even outright threatened not to let her visit _Flourish and Blotts_!

While in the shopping district, the two had ventured into a number of stores – some for copious amounts of hair product, and others for dresses for the Black wedding. It had taken an entire afternoon, but eventually, she had found a dress she liked – though, she would never admit that the whole process of trying on an incalculable number of dresses and twirling in front of the mirror hadn’t spoken to that part of her that enjoyed the romance in all her stories.

It had been a gorgeous red, with little lions embroidered into it in fine golden thread. Daphne had rolled her eyes, and muttered something about ‘ _bloody Gryffindors_ ’, while her mother had snapped a quick photo before Hermione could stop her. Her parents had beamed at her, her mother smiling widely with tears in her eyes, and her father had given her the thumbs up from behind.

Then, the wedding. In a lot of ways, the wedding had changed a lot, and in others, it hadn’t. Harry had sent Clara to bring them to Blackwall. Like Hogwarts, Blackwall was hidden from Muggles, and the creation of a Portkey was illegal outside of the Ministry – they also didn’t have a fireplace large enough for a Floo, not to mention it was a contained gas fire unit.

So, they had travelled by Phoenix.

They had arrived last, so as to make sure none would catch a glimpse of the magnificent bird – it was no secret that Phoenix feathers were incredibly rare and valuable wand cores. Harry was taking no chances with someone trying to nab one. It was rather endearing, his protectiveness.

They had arrived, and she’d been awed by the ceremony and the food. If she’d thought Hogwarts had impressive cuisine, it had been nothing compared to the food that had appeared at the table. She had been glad to have been sat with her friends, though she’d kept glancing at Harry, who had been wearing a rather nice dark outfit with the wolf of House Potter emblazoned on his breast – she’d never seen him look so happy and relaxed.

Not even during Quidditch – that terrible, _terrible_ sport – did he smile so much, and she’d longed for him to join them at their table. She had wanted to hear all about his travels and to scratch that curious itch as to why she couldn’t have written to him. There was a mystery around Harry Potter, and one day, she would solve it.

She glanced at the boy in question. He was telling Neville some story, no doubt, of something or another as the plates cleared themselves away and all the food was quickly replaced by dishes of desserts.

Ever the consummate daughter of two dentists, even hundreds of miles away, she opted for a bowl of strawberries and condensed milk, closing her eyes briefly in contentment as the sweet favours of the fruit and milk danced on her tongue.

With her eyes closed, she could hear the music that had played as the dancing had begun at Blackwall. She’d watched as Tracey, Daphne, and Neville had gotten up to dance – she had been happy for her friends, though a part of her had wished that she’d been asked as well. Daphne had been asked to dance by a handsome older boy, while Neville and Tracey had partnered up.

She hadn’t expected _Harry_ of all people to appear behind her and ask her to dance.

It had spoken to a part of her that had always been enthralled by the tales of _Pride and Prejudice_ – the gentleman asking the lady to dance, sweeping her off of her feet.

She had agreed, and it had been one of the best nights of her life. Sure, she didn’t know how to dance – she was the daughter of _Dentists_ , not the daughter of some Lord or wealthy businessman. She had listened to Harry, ignored all the eyes no doubt watching them, and simply _had fun_.

He had spun her around, made her laugh, and even _lifted_ her once! By the end of their first bout of dancing, her face was flush, and she felt a little dizzy from all the excitement.

In the end, she hadn’t been able to stop looking at him for the rest of the night.

She had watched as he changed partners, spoke, and laughed with other guests. He had danced with so many and had barely sat down as the night carried on. Her parents had danced the night away as well, and when Hermione would catch a glimpse of the way the two of them looked at one another, she would deny, _vehemently_ , that it could have been described as _dreamy_.

She knew that her parents loved one another deeply. They were best friends. Anyone who looked at them would be able to see for themselves just how devoted they were to one-another. Who wouldn’t one day want that for themselves?

When Harry had returned to the table, she’d been happy – content, even. Nobody else had asked her to dance, and she was perfectly okay with that. Neville, she knew, had been just as busy dancing as Harry had, but she didn’t hold it against him. She was happy that her only dance partner, especially her first, had been Harry – the brave boy who had jumped on the back of a Mountain Troll for her, the boy who had helped her calm down from her fear of heights after crossing the chasm beneath Hogwarts, and the boy who had made sure she left the chamber before he did.

He wasn’t flawless, of course – like all other boys, he could be arrogant and thoughtless at times, but he was _kind_ , _smart_ , _selfless_ , and _good_. She was incredibly proud to call him her best friend – not that he knew she held him in such regard, of course – she’d positively _die_ if he ever found that out.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the night was over – the dawn of a new day calling an end to the celebrations and their last dance together.

The rest of August had passed quickly, and before she knew it, she had found herself in Diagon Alley with Neville, Tracey, and Daphne. Neville had been unenthusiastic about going to the book signing at _Flourish and Blotts_ , but Tracey and Daphne had simply grabbed him by the arms and frog-marched him to the store.

Really, they were supposed to wait just at the entrance from the Leaky Cauldron and meet with Harry, Sirius, and Remus – they were supposed to be the two adults supervising them, after all, but what harm would getting a good spot in the queue do, really?

They had been standing excitedly among the crowd, each of them holding a copy of whichever book they deemed the most important to their chests as they waited. It hadn’t been long until she’d felt her magic tingle at the back of her mind. She’d tried to ignore it for a few minutes before finally relenting and handing Daphne her own copy, just in case, and headed for the door.

She’d stood on the step for perhaps only a second before she’d seen him – and what a sight it had been. It hadn’t taken her long during their first year to realise that it had been Harry, Neville, and Daphne she had briefly met in _Ollivanders_ the previous year, though each of them had been wearing a heavy-looking cloak over their shoulders – not that she expected any of them to remember their brief encounter.

Besides that, she had never seen Harry in his armour. He had talked about it over the year, she’d even made sure to get him some saddle soap and a leather conditioner for Christmas, but she had never _seen_ it.

He looked like something out of one of her books – the leather gambeson and the _sword_ making for an impressive sight. Images of tales and stories had been conjured in her mind, of brave Knights and heroes boldly walking towards their destiny – _Merlin_ , she had her very own Arthur Pendragon, or Don Quixote or Aragorn.

She had raced towards him, her Gryffindor cloak billowing after her. Even now, thinking about how she had thrown her arms around him made her cheeks warm up a little – the scent of the leather of his armour and the other smells that were just so… _Harry_.

The rest of the day had passed in a blur, and so had the rest of August. Before she knew it, she was beginning her second year at Hogwarts, and oh how different it was. Arriving at the platform with _friends_ , boarding the Express with _friends_ – sitting in a cabin with _friends_. It was all she could have ever wished for.

It was a little disappointing, not being able to see the castle from the lake again but sitting in the carriages that pulled themselves along was rather fun. Harry had kept looking at the space in front of them rather oddly – almost as if he were watching something, but clearly, there was nothing there. Perhaps he had simply been brooding again. He’d done that on the train quite a bit too.

The Sorting had gone quickly, with a few more students than had been in their own year having arrived. What was interesting was seeing Harry pay much more attention to the slight blonde girl that had been sorted into Ravenclaw – Luna Lovegood.

After that, the feast had begun, and Hermione had been more than content to simply enjoy her meal and to enjoy sitting next to her two friends and bask in the warmth of the Great Hall. Even now, as she glanced over at the Slytherin table and caught Daphne and Tracey’s eyes, she gave a small wave, wishing they could all sit together like they normally did.

At the sound of a chime, her attention was pulled away from the two smiling Slytherin’s and toward the Head Table where all the staff were sat – even Gilderoy Lockhart was up there!

She could barely contain her excitement for the first Defence class – they would be learning from one of the most famous modern wizards. After all, not many could claim half as much practical experience as he had! Oh, and his _books_!

While they didn’t have the spell incantations or the wand movements within them, there was no doubt in her mind that he would be passing that knowledge on in his lessons. She’d no doubt have to make notes for her notes, and that was only if she’d manage to look away from that charming smile of his.

She sighed a little.

“You okay there, Hermione?” Harry asked quietly, his emerald eyes looking at her with such an intensity that for a moment, she couldn’t look anywhere else.

“Yes, yes – I’m fine. Just thinking about all the things we’re going to learn in Defence.”

“I think she was making eyes at Lockhart.” Neville chuckled.

“I was not!” She hissed, fighting the urge to reach around Harry and slap the boy on the arm.

“He _is_ using that smile Sirius told us about.” Harry chuckled, and Hermione found herself rolling her eyes and folding her arms as the Headmaster stood slowly from his throne.

“Good evening one and all!” He called, his voice powerful and clear. “Now that our bellies are full, I have just a few short notices before we all trot off to bed. Firstly, our caretaker, Mister Filch, has asked me to remind you all of the list of banned items can be found on the door to his office and is some five-hundred items long.”

“Secondly, the Forbidden Forest is, as the name suggests, forbidden to all students. There are dangerous creatures within those trees, and I would very much like for you all to avoid any unnecessary days under Madame Pomfrey’s care.” At this, Dumbledore motioned to the familiar matron in her white and red robes as she stood and bowed her head to the hall.

“Thirdly, the Quidditch try-outs will be held in the second week of term as usual – anyone interested should speak to our lovely flying instructor, Madame Hooch.” Like the matron, the short haired instructor that had been the source of many a nightmare throughout the previous year stood up.

Hermione shivered a little as the memories of the flying lessons throughout the last year rose up from the depths of her mind. How Harry could stand to go whizzing about on a glorified twig, she had absolutely no idea – she would be just fine with both her feet firmly planted on the ground. If Harry wanted to break his neck, then, well, that would be his own stupid fault.

She found herself folding her arms and sniffing. When Harry turned around and grinned at her, she found the usual grin, which while it was normally rather charming, and dare she even venture to say _cute_ , rather smug. She narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, as was the responsible thing to do, of course.

“And finally,” Dumbledore called out, a small smile on his lips. “I would like to take this opportunity to introduce our new _Defence_ _Against_ _the_ _Dark_ _Arts_ professor, Professor Lockhart! Please, join me in wishing our new member of staff a warm welcome.”

The hall broke out into a polite applause for a few moments, though Hermione noticed that many of the boys throughout the hall were remarkably less enthusiastic as they should have been – even Harry and Neville were both clapping rather lazily, she thought. No matter, once the lessons began, they’d no doubt be far more interested.

“Now, off to bed with you all – and welcome to another year at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore called once the clapping had died down.

As one, the entire assembly of students rose, and Hermione was no different. She linked her arms with both Neville and Harry and grinned up at them as they made their way from the hall. “This year is going to be the _best_.” She grinned, realising for the first time, that both of the boys were taller than her by half a head – when had that happened?

“Hopefully your Lockhart is better than Quirrell.” Neville chuckled as the three of them disentangled themselves at the foot of the stairs.

“ _Anyone_ is better than Quirrell.” Harry snorted. “I’m just looking forward to a quiet year – bit of Quidditch, doing well in my exams, and, of course, wiping Hermione from the top-spot.”

“You wish, Potter.” She replied with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not even a competition.” She sniffed.

“You’ve been spending far too much time with Daphne.” Harry grumbled.

The rest of the climb up the stairs went by uneventfully, and soon, they were in the Gryffindor Common Room and she breathed in deeply and let out a contented sigh.

“We’re home.” Neville grinned, wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. The two boys laughed as they wrestled with one another.

Hermione, on the other hand, was simply content to watch on and bask in the warmth that the main fireplace provided, the crackle of the wood soothing, and the smell of parchment relaxing her in a way only the Common Room could. No doubt, it would become chaotic as the year went on, but it was _their_ kind of chaotic – _Gryffindor chaotic_. She was home.

“Right then, you two hooligans – I’m going to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I expect you both up bright and early, ready to get your schedules.” Hermione said, standing before the two boys – _her boys_ – with an arched brow.

“Yes Hermione.” They both replied, rolling their eyes with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of _Hermione Granger_ – or worse, get _expelled_.” Harry added cheekily, causing her face to heat up a little.

“Honestly, you two are impossible. I’ll meet you both down here before going to breakfast – now shoo, go and see Clara.”

She shooed them both up the stairs, lightly pushing and shoving each of them to get them started and was pleased to hear them both call a good night to her. With her role as the responsible one complete, she retreated to her own room and slipped inside.

No more than a few minutes later, her clothes were laid out for the following day, her washing taken care of, and her pyjamas were on and she was snuggled into her bed. As she lay there, staring up at the canopy, she couldn’t help but be excited for the following day and everything it would bring.

* * *

“You’re far too cheerful this morning, Neville.” Harry pouted, shoving his fellow boy a little as they walked down the path. Hermione rolled her eyes as she flipped through her Herbology book absently, her eyes quickly taking in passages she’d book marked.

The day had started well – she had woken before her dorm-mates, as usual, and managed to begin heading out the door as Lavender had trudged from her own room towards their shared bathroom, her hair sticking up in every which direction, and a trail of saliva in the corner of her mouth.

She had met the boys in the Common Room – both surprisingly having arrived before her, though Harry looked like he was still half asleep and was propped up against Neville’s shoulder rather adorably.

She had questioned it, of course, and Neville had wasted no time in revealing how Harry had stayed up half the night with Clara and Hedwig, setting his room to rights to make it feel like it had the previous year. She understood that, truly, she did – even her room wasn’t set out how she liked it yet – but it was his own fault for staying up.

The three of them had made it down to the Great Hall, and before long, they had their schedules in-hand. Harry had groaned and buried his head in his arms on the table, Neville had cheered excitedly, and Hermione had quietly cursed.

The reason for Neville’s joy was that _Herbology_ was the first lesson of the day on a Wednesday, which was followed by _Charms_ and then _Care of Familiars_. Her own disappointment came from the fact that they wouldn’t get a chance to have a lesson with Lockhart in their first week – his lessons were first thing on a Tuesday! It was terribly unfair!

“Oh shut up, you’re only grumpy because Clara pulled you out of bed.” Neville snorted, adjusting the satchel strap on his shoulder.

“She did _what_?” Tracey asked with a giggle, her hand covering her mouth. Hermione was finding it incredibly difficult to focus on her book, even her mouth was threatening to break into a small smile, the traitor.

“Oh yeah – grabbed him by the foot, I think. Dropped him right on the floor. Heard it through the wall and everything.”

“She’s a bloody menace.” Harry grumped, scowling at the thought of the magnificent bird. “Damned goose.”

“You should really treat her with more respect – she’s a queen after all.” Daphne sniffed, hooking her arm through Tracey’s as the two of them grinned.

“Queen my arse.” Harry muttered.

“Isn’t that what she dropped you on?” Neville snickered, quickly side-stepping the swipe that Harry took at him.

“Children – I’m surrounded by children.” Hermione muttered, closing her book with a quick thump before she stashed it away in her own bag.

“Anyone want to tell her?” Harry asked, his eyebrow arched as he meandered down a small set of stairs that led to the greenhouses.

“Tell me what?” She huffed, hooking her hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes.

“You’re in a school – you’ll always be surrounded by children.” Neville chuckled as he wrapped his arm around Harry’s neck and rubbed the top of his head – thankfully, Harry hadn’t bothered to tie it back today.

Even she couldn’t help but laugh alongside the others as Harry eventually managed to escape Neville’s clutches, his hair a mess from the rubbing and sticking out in every direction.

“Let them have their fun and think themselves funny – we know better.” Daphne winked, hooking her free arm through Hermione’s.

“Neville, you bloody arse!” Harry growled, and for a brief moment, Neville paled slightly – or, perhaps it had simply been a trick of the pale morning light and she had simply imagined it – and took off the rest of the way to the greenhouses at a dead sprint, Harry hot on his heels.

“Boys.” Tracey sighed. “I don’t know why we put up with them.”

“It’s nice to have people around you that you’re smarter than – we just don’t let them know it.” Daphne winked, and Hermione found herself giggling with her two friends.

It was something that she had never thought she would find herself doing. A year ago, she had thought giggling was something that girls like Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and even Fay Dunbar did when they talked about things – usually boys.

If anyone had asked her a year ago if she thought she’d be walking down a path, arm-in-arm and giggling with two other girls, she’d have laughed them right out of the room and gone back to whatever it was she was doing.

Now though, there was something with the other two girls that she couldn’t get from Harry and Neville – a sense of camaraderie and companionship. Perhaps it was because they were _girls_ and were simply free to talk about girl things – even mature as Harry could be, he would still grimace every now and then at a comment Daphne or Tracey would make.

The three detached themselves from one another as they stepped into the greenhouse and picked up one of the many over-coats that were hung up on the rack.

Herbology was an odd class, she’d always thought. It was taught in one of several greenhouses on the grounds that were all nestled together not far from Hagrid’s hut in a clearing that made sure they received sunlight during all hours of the day.

While the study of magical plants was absolutely fascinating, it was taught in a rather odd manner at times. Some lessons, the greenhouse would be arranged into a small classroom, with two chairs to a desk in a number of rows, with the plants having been pushed up to the side – other lessons, they would be stood along large trestle tables as they got practical experience in caring for something.

Today looked to be one of the former. Professor Sprout greeted each student warmly and by name – Neville especially. Though, as Hermione took his wide-eyed and flushed appearance in, she couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle as Harry sat on the other side of the row glaring at him – his hair neatened, but not at all tamed like it had been.

“What’s got you laughing?” Daphne whispered as they approached their two friends.

“Neville looks terrified, don’t you think?” She whispered back with a grin.

“He should be – Harry’s been able to kick his arse since they were eight.” The Slytherin chuckled. “I’ve been able to do it since we were six.” She added with a playful wink.

“If you did it more regularly, you might knock some sense into him.” Hermione grinned, slipping into her usual spot next to Harry and began to pull her books out and place them on the desk.

Harry continued to glare at Neville and had to stop herself from sighing from exasperation. “Honestly Harry, if you glare at him much more, you’ll burn a hole through him.”

He turned to look at her, a small frown on his face, though she did spot the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. “Now there’s an idea…”

She slapped him in the shoulder before placing her bag by her feet under the desk. Quickly arranging her desk into the most efficient use of the space – notebook front and centre, spare quills on the left with ample space for her elbow to rest, and her ink-pot above the notebook and to the right – she noticed that Harry had his things laid out in a similar fashion. How long had he been doing that? Had he picked the habit up from her? Had she inadvertently picked it up from him? Why had she never noticed this before?

“You okay there Hermione?” Harry asked slowly, snapping her out of her thoughts with a start.

She blinked once. Twice. Three times. “Oh, yes – just fine, actually.”

Harry nodded slowly; his lips pursed a little as his brows lifted. “Uh huh.”

They were both quiet for a time, and before long, Professor Sprout began the lesson.

“Good morning everyone, and welcome back to Hogwarts for your second year!” She began, smiling that pleasant smile that endeared her to so many students. “Now, this year, we’re going to be looking at how the practice of _Herbology_ overlaps with other subjects – such as _Healing_ and _Potions_.”

At the sound of the collective groan of the class, Hermione rolled her eyes as she made a quick note of the Professor’s words. Even a number of Slytherin’s looked like they’d swallowed something remarkably sour from the corner of her eye. “Yes, yes – I’m well aware that many of you despise the subject.” Professor Sprout chuckled as she paced up and down the rows slowly.

“However, what does one use to cure a poison when there isn’t a Bezoar handy? Anyone?”

Hermione’s hand shot up so quickly that Harry had to duck momentarily. He gave her an amused look as she bit her bottom lip in an attempt not to laugh.

“Ah, Miss Granger!”

“It would largely depend on the poison being used, however, a tear from a Felonwood Tree is known to cure most poisons.”

“Excellent answer – ten points to Gryffindor. Now, if you could open your books to the first chapter, we’ll go over the plan for the year.”

“Know-it-all.” Harry whispered, gently giving her a nudge and a smile. She rolled her eyes and nudged him back, though the corner of her mouth tugged up a little.

A year ago, the term would have bothered her – now though, with none of the sting in the words, she could appreciate the friendly teasing in which her friend meant it. “Oh shush.” She whispered, “Pay attention or you’ll lose us those points.”

“As M’lady commands.” He grinned cheekily, quickly opening out his textbook and thumbing through the introductory chapters. She rolled her eyes and opted to focus on the lesson, instead of the way his eyes had creased in the corners as he’d looked at her – yes, the lesson was much more important.

* * *

“Why does Harry look like he wants to murder Neville?” She found herself asking as they left the _Charms_ classroom.

The class had gone well, though no one had been able to practice a spell of any kind. Much like Herbology, it had served as an introductory lesson for the year. Thankfully, however, Professor Flitwick had deigned to throw them the proverbial bones and made mention of a few notable spells they would be working on over the course of the term.

It was an excellent opportunity to read ahead and practice for the upcoming lessons – already she could picture her favourite little nook in the Library and smell the parchment around her.

“Harry has always been a little…” Daphne paused, pursing her lips as she seemed to search for the correct word. “Focused on his hair.”

“ _Focused_? Really?” Tracey snorted, leading the three of them down the stairs. “His hair is prettier than mine.”

“You should have seen it when I first met him.” Daphne chuckled, her eyes dancing as the two girls looked at her. “He’d had it short and it stuck up in every direction you could think – nothing could tame it.”

“It can’t have been that bad, surely?” Hermione grinned, imagining the well-groomed boy she knew with the image Daphne was painting.

“Oh aye – it was hilarious. Nothing he did with it could stop it either. He pouted for a whole week when I called it adorable.”

“He didn’t!” Tracey gasped, stepping onto the ground floor with a small skip.

“Oh he did. It’s only gravity that tames it now.”

“I think it looks rather nice as it is – he looks younger with it down.” Hermione shrugged, linking an arm with Tracey and Daphne as they began their walk down to _Care of Familiars_ – a subject in which Hermione found herself increasingly frustrated with.

She understood the necessity of knowing how to care for your bonded creature and the benefits to your magic that they could provide, but to be one of the very few in the entire year with no Familiar _hurt_. As a result, she simply found herself fussing over Fang, Hagrid’s own Familiar, during most of the lessons.

She had thought she’d found one in their trip to Diagon Alley at the end of the summer – the great big orange ball of fur with the yellow eyes had just felt _right_ in her arms. It had almost felt as if a part of her had snapped into place, as ridiculous as that sounded, upon first locking eyes with it.

She’d been tempted to buy him and surprise her parents – but what would they say to her appearing over the Easter break with such a large softie? No, they wouldn’t let her keep him, and so, she’d made the painful decision to put him down and leave the store.

Sometimes though, in the nights that had passed since, she had dreamed of sitting in that store, lounging about amongst the shelves and the other creatures for sale. One night, she had gone in search of food and had found a large rat – she’d woken the following morning with the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Obviously, she’d simply bitten her tongue in her sleep, or cut her lip somewhere.

“He does – I think he wants to grow up too quickly. I think all boys want that.” Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes. There was a solemn nod shared by all three of them before the Slytherin girl smiled that lop-sided smirk of hers and drew both herself and Tracey closer towards her. “But we know better, don’t we girls?”

“As if you even need to ask that question – of course we do.” Tracey snickered, and Hermione placed her fingers over her lips to hide the grin on her face.

The three of them continued the walk down to Hagrid’s hut comfortably – Tracey had refused the need to rush back to the Slytherin Common Room to retrieve Kiki, instead revealing the small rodent to have been comfortably asleep within one of the pockets in her cloak.

When they arrived, with Hermione grinning at Tracey trying to coach the adorable little thing out of her pocket, the three of them stepped up to Harry and Neville, both grinning up at the large giant of a man that managed the grounds of Hogwarts and taught the class.

“Hello Hagrid!” Hermione beamed – she was really rather fond of the man. He was the gentlest, kindest man that Hermione had ever met, and his dark eyes always lit up whenever he saw them in between classes or in the Great Hall.

At first, she had been terrified of him – she was only a little taller than she had been then – and he had been so large. Then, their first lesson happened. She could still remember Harry calling for Clara, and the Phoenix making her grand entrance among the distant towers of the castle and how excited Hagrid had been – not to mention just how gentle he’d been with the bird.

Now, Clara stood regally on the grass before Harry, her black eyes trained on the snow-white Owl perched on Harry’s shoulder.

“’Ello ‘Ermione! Enjoy your summer, did’ya?” Hagrid beamed at her through his thick, black beard.

“It was wonderful, thank you – how was yours?”

“Oh, same ol’, same ol’. Mostly lookin’ after the forest, honestly. Constant upkeep, it needs.”

“Well, from here it looks like you’ve done a marvellous job.” She smiled before she bent down and gave Clara a quick scratch under the chin.

“You spoil her.” Harry chuckled as Hagrid went on to greet everyone else.

“And she deserves it for having put up with your antics this morning.”

“ _My_ antics? She dropped me on my bloody arse!”

“Language, Harry – she’s a magnificent creature and you should be awed by her presence.” She nodded, grinning as the Phoenix hopped closer to her – it was almost like she agreed with her.

“Traitor.” Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes at the bird, and Hermione couldn’t stifle the giggle that escaped her lips.

They were quiet for a time, the students trickling in slowly either on their own or in small clusters of two or three. Those with dogs were the wildest – the animals running around and burning off what energy they could with their tongue’s half out of their mouths, while those with cats wandered in lazily without a care in the world.

Sometimes, she thought, people often reflected the animal that they were bonded to. Daphne, whose Familiar was the appropriately names Merlin Hawk, had the most calculating gaze she had ever met. The Slytherin held herself with a fierceness and pride that was only matched by her small companion. Tracey was as sociable, playful, and curious as her own Familiar. Harry was as proud as Clara, and had an equally playful side, but there were also parts of Hedwig in him – his resourcefulness, his selflessness. Neville was the only one that she struggled to find similar traits in – though, she would be the first to admit, she avoided interacting with Trevor as much as she could.

“Hermione.” Harry began, settling down on the grass next to her, the thin leather of his coat billowing about around him. She sank down into the grass on her knees, carefully tucking her cloak under herself to avoid getting the green marks on her knees.

“Yes?” She answered, turning to look at him with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Would you want to use Hedwig during these classes? I know she’s not your Familiar, but she likes you well enough, and, well, I’ve seen how you were all year watching us all with ours, and-“

Her mouth fell open.

Harry paused in his ramblings and cleared his throat a little. “I thought you would prefer Hedwig to Fang – I know how you feel about drool.”

“Are – are you sure? I know how much she means to you.” She murmured, idly aware of the others sitting down around her – Daphne joined her on her left, and Tracey just a little further in front of her and Harry, while Neville lounged on Harry’s right, letting Trevor jump between his hands.

“Aye – it’s why I brought her with me this year.” He shrugged, holding and arm out as Hedwig walked slowly across his shoulders and towards her.

Slowly, she raised her arm and grinned as Hedwig hopped onto it and gently nipped her ear. “Hello Hedwig, aren’t you looking beautiful today.” She remarked, watching as the bird stood a little taller. She looked at Harry, “I’ll take good care of her during the lessons, Harry.”

“I know you will – Hedwig would accept nothing but the best.”

“I think Merlin still has a thing for Hedwig, you know.” Tracey grinned over her shoulder, looking between the two birds.

Hermione blinked and turned to look between the small Hawk and the Owl. “I beg your pardon?”

“I think Merlin fancies Hedwig.” Tracey shrugged, and Daphne snorted.

“Please – Merlin is half her size, not to mention a _Hawk_.” Daphne scoffed, though her amusement was clear. “Next you’ll be saying Trevor’s been flirting with Kiki.”

“Who’s flirting with who?” Neville asked, sitting up with a grunt.

“Merlin and Hedwig, and Trevor and Kiki.” Daphne replied, and Hermione could help but laugh quietly, scrunching her nose a little at the thought of it all.

“What about Clara? Who’s flirting with her?” Hermione asked, nodding to the bird contentedly sat in Harry’s lap as he ran a finger down her neck.

Harry snorted, clearly amused by the question. “If you think Clara would settle for anyone, you’re mad.”

“Dumbledore has a Phoenix, what about that?” Tracey asked after a moment. Hermione had to admit, she was somewhat intrigued as to the question herself.

“Who, Fawkes? Clara’s bigger than him by at least a third – not to mention she’ll only go on a hunt with him. I think she finds him rather disappointing – or irritating. It’s hard to tell.”

“Only a Phoenix would find another disappointing.” Neville scoffed with a grin.

Hedwig barked from her spot just before her, and Hermione quickly found herself leaning down to murmur to the gorgeous bird. “Don’t you listen to any of them, Hedwig – you’re doing just fine, aren’t you?”

Hermione scratched the Familiar beneath her beak a little and grinned as the Owl playfully nipped at her fingertip.

As Hagrid’s voice rang out and all the classes were settled, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this year was looking to be much better than their last. She had her friends around her, and their classes already promised to be fascinating – what could possibly go wrong?


	26. Harry XVII

Friday the thirtieth of October was the second worst day of the year as far as Harry was concerned. While the lessons this year on a Friday were generally interesting – honestly, how could Neville be so excited about a double period on _plants_ – there was a certain tension within him that he just couldn’t shake.

Perhaps it was the experience with the Troll from the last year that had him feeling this way, or perhaps simply his general sour disposition around this time, but _something_ caused his shoulders to tense and his brow to furrow whenever there was a prolonged silence.

As a result, he had buried himself in the company of his friends – he laughed with them, though even to his ears it felt hollow and empty. He would make jokes, chase after Neville, and engage in every conversation he could, but none of it helped.

His schoolwork was progressing along just as well, if not better than it had in the last year – the little things he’d learned at Arpton had helped in his _Charms_ and _Transfiguration_ essays. _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ so far this year had somehow been even worse than when Quirrell – _Voldemort_ – taught the subject.

Lockhart would prattle on and on about just how fantastic he was and, the lessons had simply devolved into the irritating professor reading his books aloud. On no less than three occasions had they been hit with some form of _Pop-Quiz_ about all the most useless things he could imagine. Why should he care that Lockhart’s favourite colour was lilac?

Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey had, of course taken to the class like a fish took to water – though, when he’d glanced at the three of them in class, all had their chins resting on their hands and a far away look in their eyes. Hermione rarely ever even took _notes_ in the class!

At first, he’d thought the girls under the effect of a potion or a spell of some kind – his own experience from the mirror enough to make him cautious of anything mind-altering. He’d watched them carefully, expecting some shift in their personalities or _something_. Instead, he’d found nothing different in any of them, except for their long sighs and fluttering eyes as Lockhart would focus on them in class. It was enough to make him sick with worry.

He had reached out to Amelia, hoping that her experience with her department in the Ministry would help him. At the very least, he thought that Amelia could begin an investigation into their odd behaviour. Amelia had replied, and he could practically hear her amusement through the parchment, telling him not to worry and that things would likely be different in a month or so – there were no potions or spells at work. Simply the minds of young girls.

What did that mean? The minds of young girls? How was he to help them overcome it and get back to their old selves when he didn’t even understand what had gotten them into the predicament in the first place?

It had driven him mad over the last few weeks, and Neville hadn’t been much help – his best friend hadn’t even noticed a difference in any of them. Well, he’d noticed Daphne didn’t hit him with a book as often, but that was about it. He really should have known better. If it wasn’t a plant, Neville rarely took notice. However, even he was getting tired of not learning anything in Lockhart’s classes.

Harry had caught Dean working on his _Charms_ essay last Tuesday – and the idiot professor hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t imagine the torture the OWL and NEWT students must be going through.

He sighed and smiled a little at something Daphne said – no doubt teasing Neville for something or another – he wasn’t listening. He was simply glad to be outside, away from classes and obligations, wandering the castle in the early evening.

There was something peaceful about seeing the setting sun filter in through the large windows of the castle. The long shadows cast by the gargoyles and towers of the fortress with only the magical torches and candles to illuminate the dark corners.

While classes had finished for the week only an hour ago, the corridors were still full. Everywhere around them, students were whispering their plans for their Halloween – how’d they’d spend it in Hogsmeade if they were allowed to go, _who_ they were spending it with, and what they hoped they’d get up to.

Harry would always find himself grimacing a little at the more outlandish, lewd hopes of some of the older students. He couldn’t imagine getting up to _anything_ in the darkened recesses of a place like Hogsmeade. He had grown up with Sirius, so he was well-versed in all things depraved – as much as he wished he wasn’t – but to desire someone up against a building, or to laugh about wandering hands under tables? It made him shiver.

He felt his magic flare a little as they walked past the newest addition to Hogwarts from House Weasley – Ginevra, or _Ginny_ , as her brothers called her. She was a little on the small side and had powerfully red hair that he’d only ever seen worn down. He had no doubt that she was a nice enough girl – but even he could see the vacant expression on her face as he would walk past. Yet another person wrapped up in the _Boy-Who-Lived_.

She squeaked a little as she looked up and saw him glancing in her direction. He gave a small smile and a polite nod, and the colour of her face became something akin to a tomato. He let out a little sigh, briefly noting the book she clutched to her chest, and was thankful beyond measure that the twins didn’t treat him the same way.

Those two had been up to their usual mischief, though, this time they had been armed by the two surviving Marauders. Their pranks had echoed throughout the castle after only a month – and not once had they been caught red-handed yet. After all, while they were Wards to House Black, Sirius would never allow the two premier pranksters to get caught and bring shame to his house – he should have known from the start that Sirius would have passed on as much as he could to them.

They had taken to Sirius’s advice like it was some sort of holy book. It had taken most of September for them to strike with their first prank, but when they did, it had been spectacular. Not many would have the temerity to go against Professor Snape, glorified bat that he was, but those two did.

It had been a simple morning two days prior. They had all been in the Great Hall when it had happened – the _Potions_ teacher had swept through the room, his robes billowing out behind him, and taken his seat at the Head Table. There had been the usual silence and then a tell-tale rush of magic had echoed around the room.

At first, everyone had been confused. He’d even flicked his wand into his hand and looked around for a threat before he’d caught a glimpse of the professor, who had appeared irritated beyond measure. The professor was sitting in his chair, looking slightly worse for ware – as if he’d suffered through some great gale – but his hair had been positively _gorgeous_. It was no longer was it limp and greasy, plastered back and against the man’s skull. Instead, it was voluminous, full, glossy, and in fine condition.

For a brief moment, he’d been jealous of the arse.

It hadn’t taken long for the whispers to begin circulating the school – _Professor Snape had his hair washed_. There was something fantastic about the Hogwarts Rumour Mill. Of course, the twins avoided any punishment – they hadn’t been in the Hall at the time and both had eyewitnesses that they were getting dressed at the time. It had been flawlessly executed.

Ginny scurried away. Her retreating footsteps snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Are you okay, Harry? You seem a little distracted.” Tracey asked, bumping his shoulder as they stepped onto the grass of the courtyard – the leaves of the large oak tree having already faded to browns and oranges and laying on the floor in neat piles.

“I’m fine – just not a fan of this time of the year.” He said, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. “I’ll be glad when it’s all over with on Monday.”

“We’re all here if you need us, you know.” She replied, hooking her arm through his right, and resting her head on his shoulder briefly as they walked. “I know it’s not the same, but I lost my grandparents because of the war – I can’t really remember them, but it still makes me sad when that time of year rolls around.”

He smiled a little as they came to a stop at a nearby bench and gently patted Tracey’s hand. The bench was one of several on the lawn, spread evenly around for students to be able to sit comfortably and enjoy the air while still offering some small modicum of privacy.

Neville was the first to collapse onto it, groaning and stretching his hands above his head – a number of audible pops from his joints punctuated the air. Tracey joined him immediately, before any of the others, disentangling herself from Harry’s arm, shoving Neville along the seat a little with her hip.

“Anyone still seeing things a little funny from the fumes of that demonstration Professor Saller gave us at the end?” Neville asked, rubbing his forehead a little once he’d stopped stretching.

“No, but my ears ring a little from the explosion.” Daphne replied, settling herself down next to Tracey as she took the last available seat.

“It _was_ magnificent, wasn’t it? Any of you notice Seamus perk up when it happened?” Tracey giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“That boy is far too excited by explosions and fire to be deemed healthy.” Hermione sniffed, planting herself on a large rock with a small bronze plaque attached to it near the bench.

“Says the one that set Professor Snape on fire?” Daphne grinned, winking at her playfully.

Harry watched as the colour rose in Hermione’s cheeks, and for the first time felt himself genuinely chuckle – it had been a good source of teasing over the last year, and Hermione knew they meant nothing by it. The contradiction that was Hermione Granger, though, fascinated him. She was an ardent supporter of respecting authority – which he understood and agreed with – but she would also go against anything and everything if it meant keeping her friends safe.

It was an incredibly humbling thing, to be counted among her friends.

“I did that to protect Harry, and besides, I simply _singed_ his robes.” She sniffed, crossing her legs, and smoothing out her skirt.

“Something which I am incredibly grateful for, of course. A conversation that we’ve had a number of times now, I believe.” Harry smiled, inclining his head a little as he calmly stood before them.

“I’m sure Hermione would have made a fine Slytherin.” Daphne grinned, looking at the girl in question. “Your determination to keep this idiot alive is something to behold.” She said, pointing at Harry, who simply rolled his eyes.

“Did I ever tell you that the Sorting Hat offered me any of the four houses?” Hermione asked, and Harry blinked.

His own sorting, and by extension Neville and Daphne’s, had been short, almost instant decisions that had happened with little debate. Admittedly, he could see traits in all of his friends that represented the houses of Hogwarts, but to be offered the pick of the lot by the Hat was impressive.

“I don’t think so.” Tracey replied, shaking her head a little. “I think yours was the longest out of everyone though.”

“It said I’d do well in all of them.” Hermione shrugged. “I chose Gryffindor because of the Headmaster.”

“Dumbledore? Why?” Neville asked, leaning forward on the bench, and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Well, besides Harry of course,” Hermione began hesitantly, nodding at him with a slight blush. “Dumbledore is the most famous wizard of our time – he was a Gryffindor when he attended Hogwarts. It’s in-“

“ _Hogwarts: A History_.” The four of them intoned together, causing Hermione to huff and cross her arms, though Harry could see the slight up-turn of the corner of her mouth.

“You could quote that book verbatim.” Daphne chuckled.

“Not as well as Harry could quote that book on human transfiguration.” Hermione replied, piercing him with a look he knew all too well. Evidently, she’d been waiting to ask him about it for a while, and he knew better than most that with Daphne and Tracey there, he wasn’t going to be able to avoid the comment.

“Human transfiguration? That’s advanced stuff, Harry.” Tracey said, her eyes wide. “We don’t learn that until NEWTs.”

“I want to be an Animagus.” He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “My father was one, and Sirius is too.”

“James was an Animagus? Why did you never say anything?” Daphne gasped, sitting up a little as her brow furrowed.

“I knew!” Neville grinned.

“You don’t count – shush, the adults are talking.” Daphne scoffed, waving a hand dismissively at Neville.

“You’re twelve.”

“What’s your point?”

“You’re twelve – you’re not an adult.”

“I’m mature for my age.” Daphne sniffed, tilting her nose up in the air a little. “Now,” She began, returning her attention back to Harry. “Why did you never tell _the rest of us_?”

“It never came up, honestly. Sirius gave me a book with the notes they passed with their ideas for names at Christmas.”

“Names?” Hermione asked, tilting her head to the side as she shuffled to the side on her little rock and patted the space next to her. He sat down with little complaint and pursed his lips – Tracey and Hermione were watching him intently.

“Aye – names. Sirius is _Padfoot_ , Remus is _Moony_ , my father was _Prongs_ , and Peter,” He paused and spat on the floor at the name. “Was _Wormtail_. Together, they made up _The Marauders_.”

“The Marauders? What did they do?” Tracey asked, and Neville snickered behind his hand – Neville knew almost as much as he did about their escapades throughout Hogwarts, and Daphne knew almost as much.

“You know the twins?” Neville asked, and Harry watched as the witches nodded slowly. “The Marauders are what they aspire to be.”

Harry snorted as he watched Hermione and Tracey shiver involuntarily. “You know how Snape despises me?”

“ _Professor_.” Hermione muttered, elbowing him in the ribs a little.

“No – it’s never once come up, honestly.” Daphne sighed with a roll of her eyes. Tracey and Hermione giggled.

“Well, he was a regular target – my father and Sirius were never fans of his, but Sirius has never told me why.”

“Makes sense he’d carry his grudge against him onto you – everyone says you’re the spitting image of your father.” Neville shrugged, leaning back on the bench, and crossing his ankles.

“Aye, I don’t blame him. Some of the pranks they did crossed the line far more than I care to admit – Severus gave as good as he got, from what I’ve heard.”

“He did pranks too?” Tracey gasped, no doubt having trouble reconciling her Head of House with a prankster.

“No – he simply threw curses at them or spiked their food and drink with a potion or two.”

They fell into a silence after that. The sounds of the various groups of students that were still milling about and chatting bounced off of the stone walls, and a pair of small birds sat in the branches of the old oak tree and sang without a care in the world.

“You never told us what his form was.” Daphne said after a moment, drawing his attention back to the friends.

“He was a stag – _Prongs_ was a reference to his rack of antlers.” He grinned, feeling the usual pang of loss in his chest, his grin was empty and he knew it.

“Sirius is a Grim, that’s why he went with _Padfoot_.” Neville added, thankfully drawing the attention away from him. When he felt Hermione’s hand gently rub back and forth between his shoulders, he gave her a small smile of thanks.

“Remus? You said his name was _Moony_?” Tracey asked excitedly, looking at Neville.

“Remus is rather private with his – it’s up to him to tell you that one.” Harry said, stopping Neville from answering. He wasn’t about to have Remus’s secret exposed in the middle of Hogwarts. Remus had come a long way in the years he’d been caring for him, and while he was much more confident and sure of himself, Remus would always think less of himself because of that bloody disease.

Sometimes, Harry wished Fenrir Greyback would just roll over and die for what he’d done to his Uncle.

“So, what do you want to turn into?” Hermione asked, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“It doesn’t work like that.” He snorted, cocking a brow at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Animagus have their forms _revealed_ to them – there’s no say in what you become.” Daphne answered. “You could be anything, really.”

“That’s fascinating.” Hermione breathed. “So, in theory, you could be something as simple as an ant, or as large as a dragon?”

“ _Merlin_ , please be a dragon!” Tracey grinned, bouncing in her seat a little.

“Alright, alright – I won’t be doing the transformation for years yet. And no, if I _do_ get a dragon – not that anyone ever has, mind you – you _can’t_ ride me.”

“And here I thought you were fun, Potter.” Tracey huffed, folding her arms and pouting as she slouched down on the bench a little.

“Well if it isn’t Potter, slumming it as usual with the Blood-Traitors!” Draco called, stepping onto the lawn at the far side of the Courtyard.

Harry didn’t need to use his magic to know everyone in the Courtyard, regardless of whether they were in the wings or sitting at one of the many benches by the oak, was now paying very close attention to the Malfoy heir and himself.

“Cousin Draco.” Harry sighed, standing, and taking a few steps toward the blonde boy – the twin gorillas of Crabbe and Goyle flanking his shoulders. Behind him he heard his own friends get to their feet.

“ _Cousin_? You don’t get to claim blood with _me_ , Potter! You think I’d sully the likes of my blood with yours?”

“Are you forgetting we’re both related to House Black? My grandmother was Dorea Black, you fool, and your mother, Narcissa, was bartered off to your father like a mule.” Harry scoffed. “No doubt she deserved better than Lucius.”

“Don’t you _dare_ say a word against my father!” Draco growled, stepping a little closer. His pinched face flushed red in barely restrained fury.

“I’ll say whatever I’d like to about Lucius Malfoy, Draco, or have you forgotten exactly who it is you’re speaking to? I’m warning you – never refer to my friends by that disgusting title again.” Harry replied, his magic flaring up and roiling just beneath the surface.

He hadn’t planned on getting this angry when dealing with Draco, but he wouldn’t stand to have his friends referred to in such a disgusting way. Harry _hated_ that term. With Lucius having supported the Dark Lord, despite later claiming to have been under the _Imperius_ curse, Harry had little doubt that Draco knew _exactly_ where that term had originated.

“You think I’m scared of _you_ , Potter?”

“You should be – he’s the heir to the most powerful family in Britain, Draco.” Daphne said dryly. “You’d be a fool to be anything but cordial to him. Not only is House Black _sworn_ to him and his house, but there are even more houses that stand with him, sworn and allied alike.”

“Shut your mouth, Greengrass.” Goyle snapped, the boy waddling forward to stand beside Draco.

Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Neville stepped between Goyle and Daphne, his nostrils flared, and fists clenched at his sides. “I’d suggest keeping your words to yourself, you mindless ape, unless you want to be picking your teeth up off of the floor.

“What are you going to do, you useless Squib?” Crabbe demanded, his large head knocking into Neville’s lightly as they stared at one another.

“Call your boys off, Draco, and go back to your Common Room – you know just as well as I do that you won’t come out of this as the winner.” Harry said, making sure to keep an eye on both Draco _and_ his personal henchmen.

“Harry – just ignore him. Let’s get out of here. He’s not worth it.” Hermione said, placing a hand on his left arm. Instantly, he felt lighter, and his magic found itself firmly under his control once again.

He nodded and allowed her to pull him away, moving back towards the castle – their pleasant conversation now thoroughly ruined by the brat. Perhaps, in the Great Hall, they would be able to calm down properly and enjoy a different topic.

For a moment, he thought of just how proud Arcturus would have been of him. Despite their argument just before his return to Hogwarts, he still loved the man dearly, and in hindsight he should have known better than to assume Arcturus would have done nothing with the slight against his mother’s name. He had been hot-headed, foolish, and above all else, childish.

They were almost off of the lawn when Draco’s taunting voice stopped him in his tracks and the fury ignited his very core in a way nothing had before.

“Did you forget what day it was tomorrow, Potter? Going to disappear and cry over your Blood-Traitor father and his Mudblood whore? Give it a couple of years Potter – I’m sure this one will spread her legs for you too.”

Harry’s entire body felt tense, and a dangerous calm swept over him. His fingers trembled and twitched as physical sparks of crimson magic danced along them in thin lightning-like forks. His jaw clenched, and he felt his teeth grinding together almost painfully.

To his left, he watched from the corner of his eye, as Neville wrapped his arms around Tracey, who was busy kicking and screaming towards Draco. On the other side of him, Daphne had rushed to Hermione’s side and had her firmly held in place.

Harry spun on his heel and flicked his wand into his hand, his eyes narrowing on Crabbe and Goyle instantly.

He marched forward and quickly flicked off a pair of _Petrificus Totalus_ curses at the dim-witted boys. He watched, with no small satisfaction, as the idiots seized up, their arms snapping to their sides and the colour drained from their faces as they fell to the floor – both of them bouncing off of the stone he and Hermione had been sitting on.

Draco spun around as the two boys collapsed on the ground next to him. He looked back at him; his eyes wide with fear as the colour drained from his already pale face. Harry watched as Draco flicked his wand into his hand, but in his panic, he fumbled and dropped it into the grass.

Harry threw his wand to the side and leapt at Draco. He didn’t care where it ended up – he could find it afterward. Right now, all he needed to concern himself with was unleashing the fury that was burning within his veins.

The two fell to the grass. Draco landed on his back, his arms splayed at his side – his eyes were clamped shut and his face twisted into a grimace as the back of his head collided with the dirt beneath him.

Harry, meanwhile, had landed on his knees and quickly moved to straddle Draco’s chest. Instantly, Harry pushed down with his left hand on Draco’s chest and pulled his right arm back, his fingers already curled into a fist.

He brought it down with a grunt, the wet thud of his knuckles on Draco’s jaw fuelled him as his rage boiled and writhed. He pursed his lips as he sat back up and slammed his fist down again and again, each time his body fell forward as he put his entire weight behind the punch.

He channelled his magic through his limbs, like Felix had taught him over the Summer. Already his knuckles were beginning to sting from where he’d cut the skin on Draco’s bloody teeth.

Beneath him, Draco wheezed wetly, but Harry’s fury wasn’t spent. It was as if in that moment, every obscene comment and slur against his mother came back to the forefront of his mind as he changed his grip on Draco.

His right hand grasped the front of Draco’s doublet and lifted his head up a little. The boy’s eyes were already swollen shut, his left cheek bruised and battered with a long gash that ran along his cheekbone with just the slightest hint of bone visible.

He swung with his left, and despite the power he channelled through his arm, it didn’t have the same satisfying effect. Harry swung two more times, rocking Draco’s body violently with each strike.

He sat up after a moment and lifted Draco with him before he shattered Draco’s nose with a pair of rapid strikes that knocked him once more onto his back. Both of his hands were covered in blood – his or Draco’s, he didn’t know, nor did he care.

Harry held Draco’s head firmly in place with a hand wrapped around the boy’s neck and continued to strike him. The world faded away, and Harry lost himself to the wet slaps of his fist rocking Draco’s head back and forth.

For how long he was at it, he didn’t know, but eventually, the sight of a dozen or more feet in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked up.

All around him were the horrified and stunned faces of the students of Hogwarts. Had they remained there, transfixed by the violence he had unleashed on the Slytherin? He looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with his friends, and his first halted mid-swing.

Neville was tense, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he took Harry in. Harry looked down for a brief moment and noted that the front of his uniform was covered in a mixture of blood and saliva, as were his fists – he could even feel it slowly running down his face on his cheeks. He glanced back up at Neville and received a slight nod.

The girls were different. Tracey looked horrified from her place in Neville’s arms. There were tear marks running down her cheeks and a trembling hand was covering her mouth as she sobbed. Daphne, who had known him the longest of the three of them and had even witnessed his anger at times during their long friendship, was looking at him warily, her face impassive.

He stood shakily and stumbled in the direction that he’d thrown his wand. The rage left him in a rush and he almost fell to his knees as he bent to pick the thin piece of wood from the grass. All around him, several of the older students surged forward, each with their own wands out and aimed at him.

Harry blinked and holstered his wand.

He stumbled past his friends, the exhaustion quickly catching up to him and he briefly caught sight of a trio of professors. McGonagall brought a shocked hand to her mouth as she caught sight of him and the boy he’d left in the grass. Dumbledore remained unreadable, just as he always did. It was the look of absolute fear in Lockhart’s eyes that startled him the most – how did a man who had faced untold scores of dark creatures find him a terrifying sight?

He shifted and stepped around Daphne and Hermione, and his heart shattered as the two of them flinched away from him on instinct – Hermione even going so far as to turn her head into Daphne’s shoulder to avoid his gaze.

“Mister Potter – my office. _Now_.” Dumbledore commanded. He nodded mutely as he moved to follow. Dumbledore spun on his heel and created a path through the students, each of them taking an extra step back as he walked past them.

His limbs felt heavy and sluggish as he followed the Headmaster through the school corridors and up the many staircases to the seventh floor. All the while, blood dripped from his fingertips and splashed quietly against the stone beneath his boots. In the back of his mind, he could feel Clara’s concern – her worry, and her righteous fury.

No doubt she was angrily hopping about his room where he had left her to rest for the afternoon – Hedwig, he’d sent back to Blackwall with a letter to Sirius and Amelia with a question about _something_ or another – he could barely even remember what he’d had for lunch at this point.

The Headmaster snapped the password to the gargoyle at the base of the stairs to his office before leading Harry up the small spiral staircase and into his office proper.

It had been some time since Harry had set foot in the room – the last time having been shortly after being freed from the _Mirror_ _of_ _Erised_. He hadn’t appreciated the beauty of it at the time, but even through his exhaustion he marvelled at the two-tiered office.

To his immediate left were the cabinets full of trinkets and magical artefacts, some no doubt gifted to the school over the years by their creators, and others created by the powerful previous Headmasters and Headmistresses.

Dumbledore’s desk sat next to a roaring fireplace that bathed the room in a comfortable heat, and the huge bookshelves that sat behind it were stacked full of ancient looking volumes and scrolls. What he would give to be able to have access to the vast knowledge in this room.

Fawkes trilled from his small golden perch, his song sweet and soft as he shuffled about at the sight of Harry. He had become acquainted with the smaller Phoenix through Clara, and he found he got on rather well with the bird – he was much more gently inclined than his own, though whether that was down to _where_ Harry had met Clara, or just her personality, he couldn’t say.

Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair and levelled a grave expression at him behind his half-moon glasses. “I trust, Harry, you understand the consequences of your actions?”

“I do, Headmaster.” He replied, his voice was scratchy and horse. “I have no excuse and will accept any punishment you deem necessary.”

“Will you indeed?” Dumbledore sighed and took off his glasses tiredly. Harry watched as the stern expression on the Headmaster’s face was swept aside by the old man the powerful wizard had become.

Harry said nothing, instead choosing to simply stand there. What _could_ he say? He’d seen the state that he’d left Draco in, and while he felt _numb_ to it all. On some level, he understood that if he’d continued, he’d have killed the boy in his blind rage.

The echo of his anger stirred in his chest again as he thought of what Draco had called his mother, and what he’d implied of Hermione. How _dare_ he claim such things? He found himself breathing in deeply as his magic stirred once again.

“I will say this once, and only once, Harry. Calm down before I’m forced to calm you down myself.” Dumbledore rumbled, his voice brimming with power as the portraits on the walls around him whispered to one another frantically.

Harry blinked and felt his shoulders droop once again as he wrestled his magic under control. Normally, he was able to command it well enough, this time he had to clamp his eyes shut and beat the surging, wild power into submission; it railed against the cage he’d forced it into.

“You are an immensely powerful young man, Harry, and I think, perhaps, that your name will in one way, or another, go down in history. Which side of history you fall on will depend entirely on you, of course.” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers before his face as he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair.

“Sir?” He asked with a frown and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Did you know that I knew your grandfather and his wife, Dorea?” The Headmaster asked suddenly, raising a brow.

He shook his head silently.

“I thought as much. I taught both of them, here, in this school – both were remarkable individuals, and I was heartbroken to hear of their deaths.”

Harry nodded his head slowly at the words. He knew his grandparents had been killed in Voldemort’s war – they had died side-by-side battling the Dark Lord’s followers. It hadn’t been long before that, that Voldemort had begun the systematic extinction of the cadet branches of his family. His uncles, aunts, cousins – all murdered in one way or another until only his father had remained.

“Then it shouldn’t surprise you to hear that I understand your anger – the Potter fury has long since faded from the minds of the masses, but some of us still remember.”

“Sirius told me I inherited both of my parent’s tempers.” Harry replied evenly, wiping a drop of _something_ from his chin.

“That it seems you have – Lily had a brilliant temper, and your father-“

“Could hold a grudge for years, yes. Like I just mentioned, Sirius and Remus have told me.” Harry said, cutting the Headmaster off.

“Indeed. I wonder, Harry, did they also tell you of your responsibility as the heir to House Potter among your peers?”

“I know my responsibilities, _sir_.”

“Do you think young Draco deserved to die for whatever reason caused you to leave him in that state? Would you have stopped of your own volition if we hadn’t arrived?”

Harry simply shrugged – he had no idea whether he would or wouldn’t have. All he could really recall with any clarity was Tracey’s tear-stained cheeks, Neville’s nod of understanding, and the way Daphne and Hermione had flinched away from him – the latter not even able to look at him. It made him want to be sick.

“Well? Would you have?” Dumbledore asked again, his eyes hard and piercing.

“I don’t know – probably not, no.” Harry muttered, glancing at the floor.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Nothing. I don’t feel anything one way or another about it.” He grunted, pacing back and forth slowly as he glanced around the room. Above him, a portrait of Phineas Black stared down at him past his long, hooked nose. The portrait of him at Grimmauld Place was an arse – he didn’t expect anything different from this one.

“That worries me, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed, his voice tight with something that Harry couldn’t place, nor did he particularly want to.

“Why should it? You are neither my guardian nor family – you are the headmaster of a school.” He snapped, looking away from the portrait of the long-dead member of House Black. “I could have killed Draco and not have suffered anything for it legally – not after what he said.”

“Enlighten me, Harry. I cared for your parents a great deal, and I care for you also. One day I would like to think you could trust me enough to confide in me.”

“He called my father a _Blood-Traitor_ and my mother a _Mudblood Whore_ – then he went on to insinuate that Hermione was the same. What would any of the other families have done, Headmaster?” He asked, glancing at the man in the high-backed chair.

“Declared a Blood-Feud, most likely.” He watched as Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped in his chair a little. “Were there any witnesses to this exchange? Outside of your friends, of course.”

“Anyone that was in the Courtyard, I would imagine.”

“Very well – I’ll begin interviewing the students this evening. May I suggest-“

Whatever Dumbledore was about to say was cut off by the door to his office being thrown open, and the sneering visage of Professor Snape stormed into the room, his robes billowing and his sallow face the colour of the blood on Harry’s knuckles.

“Headmaster, I demand this _boy_ be expelled from the grounds – _immediately_!”

“Ah, Severus – please, come in.”

“Professor.” Harry said, inclining his head a little. Harry watched as Snape’s eyes took in his appearance quickly before darting back to the Headmaster.

“Why is he not being expelled? He nearly beat a member of Slytherin to death with his fists like a Neanderthal. Instead, he is up here with you, looking as if he hasn’t a care in the world! He attacked the heir to a Noble Family – this _cannot_ stand!” Snape roared, stepping past Harry and placing his hands on Dumbledore’s desk.

“Legally, Harry was within his rights to respond the way he did, if his claim proves to be true.” Dumbledore replied calmly. “That isn’t to say he won’t go without punishment.”

Harry inclined his head toward Dumbledore. He’d expected as much.

“So he gets away with nearly beating a student to death, in front of half the school?”

“If what Harry said is true, then he will face the appropriate punishment for attacking another student. No more – no less.”

“Unbelievable!” Snape blew out with a gush of foul breath, pushing away from the desk and rounding on Harry. “You’re just like your father – attacking anyone you fancy. You’re nothing more than a beast.”

Harry raised a brow slowly and took a step towards the professor. “I’m well aware of _everything_ that went on between you and my father, _Severus_. Speak that way about him again, and I swear-“

“That is enough, Harry.” Dumbledore said, standing from his chair as Fawkes fluttered his wings twice.

“You _dare_ -“ Snape began, and Harry noticed Snape’s hand twitch ever so slightly.

“Severus – leave us.” Dumbledore commanded. Harry watched as Snape’s back straightened slightly and his jaw snapped shut with an audible click. The professor glared at the Headmaster for a moment before sweeping from the room with one last sneer.

“It is unwise to antagonise him.” Dumbledore said once the door clicked shut.

“It’s unwise for him to be a prick.” Harry muttered in response, as he glanced at the door. When his eyes returned to the Headmaster, he saw the hard stare that was levelled at him. “What would you have me say?”

“I would have you be above such petty insults.”

“I was raised by Sirius.”

“And Arcturus. Remus as well – I can’t imagine they would be too pleased to hear you speak of your professors in such a way, no matter your, or their, personal feelings.” Dumbledore replied as he moved around his desk. “Now, in light of your actions, I believe a deduction of House Points and a number of detentions are in order – would you agree?”

“Aye, Headmaster.” He nodded, flexing his right hand idly as the skin began to sting.

“Very well – return to Gryffindor Tower for the evening. I’ll have the Elves bring you your food. Your first detention will be tomorrow night with Professor Lockhart. I’m sure missing the feast will weigh heavily on you.”

“As long as you don’t let another Troll roam the castle, Headmaster, I believe that I’ll be fine.”

“I can assure you, my boy – the castle will be more than secure without Professor Quirrell scurrying about.” Dumbledore replied evenly, raising a brow slightly. “Now, why don’t you get a move on and I shall begin interviewing the students as to the events of the evening, hm?”

“Yes Headmaster.” Harry replied, bowing stiffly before striding from the room. As he quickly made his way down the short spiral staircase, he half expected to see Snape standing there, waiting for him. Instead, he was simply greeted with the empty hallway that would lead back to Gryffindor Tower.

He made his way there quickly, pausing his stride only long enough to announce the password – Bowtruckle Sneezes – and step through.

He came to a dead stop upon entering the Common Room, as it seemed almost every member of Gryffindor was standing waiting for him – most looked disgusted at the state of him, while others had much more guarded faces.

“Harry!” Neville cried, leaping to his feet, and rushing over to him. Harry grimaced as Neville gripped both of his shoulders and looked him over, crinkling his nose as he took the state of him in. “Are you alright? I tried to explain to everyone, but-“

“I’m fine, Neville. Hands are a little sore though.”

“No wonder – you nearly beat the kid to death.” A seventh year called out from the crowd. The boy was tall and well built, with the sigil of House Patt on his breast – a vassal of House MacMillan.

“That _kid_ insulted the late Lord and Lady Potter, Arnold – shut your mouth.” Neville snapped, turning around and glaring over his shoulder. Harry just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t – just… don’t.” Harry muttered, waving the both of them off as he moved to step around Neville. He went to move towards the stairs, but found his path blocked by the other students. Neville was quickly at his shoulder once again. “May I pass?” He asked tiredly.

“That depends – will you attack us like a savage?” A girl sneered. He didn’t recognise anything about her, and she was dressed in the Muggle-born uniform that Hermione and Tracey wore.

“Will you insult my parents?” He asked. His jaw clenched and unclenched as his patience began to wear thin. “Bollocks to it.” He muttered, turning to the room as a whole. “You really want to do this now? Okay.” He said, raising his voice as he looked at the rest of his House. “You.”

He marched up to the young Creevey boy who had his camera in hand. He was nice enough and had a love for photography – Harry distantly recalled him mentioning he was a Muggle-born. The boy’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.

“If your parents were dead, and were called a _Blood-Traitor_ and a _Mudblood Whore_ , what would you do? Do nothing? Shame.” He stepped away and looked at someone else across the room. He marched up to them. “What about you, hm? Thought so.”

He went back and forth between the members of Gryffindor, each of them refusing to say a word – Neville remained where he had been standing, his arms folded across his chest. “I thought as much. Quick to pass judgement, but I wonder what each of you would do in my place.” He glanced back at the girl that had sneered at him. “Now, _move_.” He growled.

The students parted and allowed him to move to the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time and slammed the door closed behind him as he stepped into the shared room that his bedroom branched off from.

He wasted little time in entering his own room, pausing only long enough to calm Clara and gather a quick change of clothes – a large, baggy shirt, clean underwear, and a new pair of breeches – before ducking back out to the shared bathroom.

He entered a shower cubicle quickly and began to strip the clothes from his body, throwing them into a small pile by the door before he unstrapped his wrist holster for his wand. Once divested of his clothing, he stepped under the shower head and ran his finger over the rune.

Harry stood there, his muscles trembling as the water ran down his body and into the drain between his feet. His head was bowed, and his hair hung in wet, limp clumps with his hands on the wall in front of him.

For a while, he tried to fight it, but eventually the pained sobs wracked his body and his vision blurred and he wept. He wept for his mother and father – for the hugs and kisses that he would never experience. He wept for how broken and twisted his anger made him feel. He wept for how his friends had looked at him like he was some sort of monster.

Why did nobody understand that he didn’t _want_ to be angry all the time? Why could nobody see how much it strained him to keep his magic under control? Most days he was so exhausted from keeping it controlled that he barely felt rested the following morning. Was it only a matter of time until he lost control again and hurt them irreparably?

Draco would be fine under Madame Pomfrey’s care, he knew that, but what if next time he didn’t stop? He’d admitted as much to Dumbledore that he likely wouldn’t have felt much if he’d killed Draco, but now – now that everything was done, and he was finally alone…

He was a monster, and now the whole school knew what he really was. No wonder his friends had flinched away from him. They must have thought that they would likely suffer a similar fate. Only Neville – brave, loyal Neville – had rushed to him without a second’s hesitation the moment he had arrived at the Tower. He hadn’t seen Hermione in the crowd of faces, despite keeping an eye out for her.

He wanted to apologise – he _needed_ to apologise. He would never hurt her – or Neville, or Tracey, or Daphne. They were his friends. They were _pack_.

He sniffed and lifted his head as the water began to run down his face, washing away his tears as his breath slowly evened out. No doubt Arcturus, Sirius and Remus would be disappointed – even Andromeda if she found out.

He pushed his hands from the wall and held them under the water. His eyes watched as the blood slowly trickled away and revealed the swollen knuckles underneath all the blood and saliva that had coated them. They weren’t in such a state that he needed to visit Madame Pomfrey, and he could still open and close his fists well enough, so he hadn’t broken anything.

He pulled himself together and finished showering quickly once his hands were clean, scrubbing himself twice over, as if that would help remove what he’d nearly done. With another swipe of his finger, the water halted, and he quickly dried himself with a spell and pulled his clothes on.

When he stepped back into the small common room, he found Hermione sat there, fussing over Clara with Neville. Both looked up at him – though it was only Neville that offered any sort of smile.

“Here – let me take those. I think the two of you need to talk.” Neville said, getting to his feet and quickly taking the bloody bundle of clothes from his hands. Harry nodded mutely, his hair swinging limply on either side of his face a little.

“Thank you.” He whispered with a small sniff.

“I’m with you no matter what, Harry – we’re brothers, remember?” Neville replied, wrapping his free arm around him, and squeezing tightly. Without thinking, Harry wrapped his arms around Neville and squeezed back, balling his fists into the doublet at Neville’s back.

They stayed that way for a moment, with only Clara’s soft chirps and the crackling of the fire to punctuate the silence of the room. They both pulled back at the same time, and Neville quickly moved to Harry’s room where he threw his clothes into the basket before disappearing into his own.

Harry looked over to Hermione, who was perched nervously on the edge of the small two-seater sofa and fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“Hello.” He said softly, his voice cracking a little. He sat down on one of the plush chairs to the side and stared at the rug beneath his feet.

“Hey.” She replied in a small voice – it was so faint he could barely hear it over the fire. Clara hopped over to him and nipped at his fingertips.

“I understand it, you know.” He said after a moment, his eyes flicking up briefly to glance in her direction.

She sat there, her back straight, but her chin tucked to her chest. Her hair fell in thick curtains on either side of her face while her shoes worried at the rug anxiously. She didn’t even look at him.

“I’m a monster.” He said after a moment, and he looked back down at his feet. “I just… I just get so angry sometimes, and I can’t control it. It’s been bad ever since Voldemort.” He sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I don’t know how much longer I can cope.”

“I nearly killed Draco.” He added after a moment, pursing his lips and nodding his head. “Dumbledore asked me how I would have felt about that, you know. I told him I wouldn’t have felt much of anything. At the time, it was true – but now…” He paused and sucked in a shuddering breath. “Now I’m disgusted by myself.”

He looked up at her and felt the tears trickle their way down his cheeks as his throat constricted and his nose stung. “Please, Hermione – _please_ say something.”

She flinched and finally looked at him – her eyes were red, and there were visible tracks down her own cheeks. “What do you want me to say, Harry?”

“I don’t know – _anything_!”

“Harry, I watched you nearly kill a boy because he called your parents names! How do you expect me to react?” Hermione asked, her voice raised and tight. Her eyes were wide, and her bottom lip trembled.

Harry sat back a little as his mouth opened to say something, but the words died on his tongue and he found himself frowning. “You have no idea what those words mean, do you?” He murmured, blinking away the tears that lingered.

“I know what _whore_ means, Harry!” Hermione replied sharply, leaping to her feet. “Being called such a vile thing isn’t sufficient to beat someone to within an inch of their life.” She snapped.

“To the Hells with calling my mother a _whore_ , Hermione!” He roared, jumping to his own feet. He grimaced as she stumbled back and fell back onto the sofa. A rush of air left his nose as he walked over toward the fire and glared at it, folding his arms over his chest as he chewed at his thumbnail.

“He called my father a _Blood-Traitor_. It’s a slur – it means my father betrayed the magic in his blood. That he betrayed wizards and witches everywhere for the sin of falling in love with my _mother_.”

He sniffed and cleared his throat.

“I could handle him calling my mother a whore – I’ve heard it muttered all my life. But I couldn’t ignore him calling her a _Mudblood_.” He looked over his shoulder at her, his gaze steely. Hermione had remained seated where she was, though her face was pale, and she held a hand to her mouth that trembled slightly.

“It’s a way of saying that her blood was _dirty_ , worth naught but mud – it’s a foul way to refer to someone with non-magical parents. A _Muggle-born_.”

He rounded on his friend, the familiar feeling of his magic surging with his passions.

“And then, on top of all of that, he said the same thing about you.”

“You think I care what that spoiled, spiteful little boy thinks of me? Harry – you could have _killed_ him!” Hermione frowned; her voice strained as she dropped her hand to her lap. “Do you think your parents would have wanted that?”

“I don’t know what my parents wanted!” Harry bellowed, and in the corner of the room, a chair imploded in a shower of splinters and shredded fabric. Hermione squealed and covered her head instinctively.

“Even their Will, they didn’t even write it in their own hand, just signed it – _Merlin_ , I barely even have a letter from them! A handful of photographs, but that’s it – how should I know anything other than what people have told me? The worst part is that I _want_ to know, Hermione. I would give _everything_ to have my father cheer for me after catching the Snitch, to have my mother run her hands through my hair and kiss everything better – but I can’t. People like that _worm_ Draco took that away from me!”

Harry sank to his knees, the anger rushing from him as he buried his face in his hands and began to sob. “I just want my parents.”

He’d never felt so pathetic in his life. Not even the soft trills of Clara, as he felt her nuzzle his neck helped. He sat there, rocking back and forth a little as the sobs wracked his body painfully – his face felt hot and his nose stung painfully.

There was a shuffle of movement, and he thought he heard the door close. He wouldn’t blame her for leaving – he was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode. Perhaps he should just leave and disappear somewhere. At least he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

He barely even noticed the arm that slipped around his waist and the head that took up position on his shoulder. He calmed eventually and lowered his hands and rubbed him on his thighs – the tears leaving dark marks on the material. He glanced to his left and saw the pleated skirt and Hermione’s pale knees folded beneath her.

His nose scrunched on instinct as her hair tickled his nose and he looked away quickly.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Harry.” She said quietly after a moment. “I think you’re a boy who’s had terrible things happen to him – but you’re no monster.”

His stomach clenched involuntarily, and he felt the tears threatening to spill from his eyes once again.

“You’re a good person, Harry – and an even greater wizard someday. Your parents would be proud.” She continued, finally lifting her head from his shoulder, and looking at him with her chocolate eyes.

“How do you _know_?” He asked quietly, looking away and down at the rug beneath him.

“Because I know _you_. Yes, what you did today is terrifying, but you’re a _good person_. These tears,” she reached up and brushed his cheek, catching the steady stream running from his eyes. He fought the urge to lean into her touch. “They tell me that you have a good heart.”

He wanted to agree, wanted more than anything to agree with her, but he couldn’t. He didn’t trust himself to believe her. Not then. Possibly not ever. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet, Hermione only a second behind. “I should get some sleep.” He muttered, looking anywhere but at his friend. It didn’t seem right.

“Of course. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” She replied. He nodded slowly and moved to step toward his room, only for Hermione to wrap him in another hug. “You scared me today, Harry – but I’ll always be your friend.”

Before he could say anything, she let go and rushed from the room and clicked the door shut behind her. He blinked and glanced down at Clara, who simply stared up at him and cocked her head to the side and blinked.

He bent down and picked the bird up in his arms, the corners of his mouth twitching as she nuzzled his neck and nipped at his ear playfully. He knew what she was doing – he knew his first Familiar far too well – and gave her a gentle squeeze for her efforts. She may be a pain in his arse sometimes, but he loved her unconditionally, and she him.

Harry kicked his door open gently and stepped through, pushing it shut with the heel of his shoe until it clicked. With the door shut, he gently laid Clara on the bed got changed, tossing the used clothes into the basket by the door before he climbed under the cover. Clara settled herself on the pillow next to his head, her wing draping itself over his shoulder.

For how long he continued to stare up at the canopy of his bed, he didn’t know, but eventually his eyelids grew heavy and sleep claimed him.

* * *

Harry knocked on the door to the Defence classroom – the three thuds echoing down the empty corridor behind him.

The day had carried on for far too long, as far as he was concerned. He’d awoken that morning to the gentle pecks of Clara and gone through his morning routine without any enthusiasm – his limbs had felt like lead and he’d seen just how red and puffy his eyes were in the bathroom.

After that, he’d avoided most people. He’d remained in his room for the majority of the day, staring at the mannequin that held his armour in the corner of his room, his sword and belt hanging from the wall next to it.

He’d gotten up to look at it closely over the course of the day, wondering what his father would think of him wearing it and even going so far as to bring it to the school. He didn’t expect to need it, but after the debacle with Quirrell and Voldemort at the end of the last year, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Even now, as he stood waiting for the fool of a professor to answer the door, he could close his eyes and sense the animosity within the fortress. He had little doubt as to where that animosity was directed – he deserved it. He’d beaten the boy to within an inch of his life – all in a fit of rage because his parents had been called names.

It wasn’t fit behaviour for the son of James and Lily Potter – nor a son of Sirius Black, or a grandchild of Arcturus Black.

His armour hadn’t been the only thing he’d looked at during the day. Other times, he would stare at the tapestry Arcturus had given to him with his name written proudly in elegant script, while his face grinned up at him.

After everything he’d done – did he deserve to remain on it? He’d fingered his wand a couple of times and fought the urge to burn his name from it more than once. He’d never felt like such a failure and a disappointment in his life. Arcturus had taught him better than this.

Arcturus had made sure he’d grown up to be level-headed, to be able to rise above petty insults and wrap himself in skin made of the toughest Dragon-hide. Andromeda had made sure he had been loved unconditionally and known the love that Sirius, Remus, and Arcturus couldn’t provide. She’d given him a close cousin in Nymphadora. Remus had made sure he always had someone to turn to, and words of advice should he ever need it. Sirius… Sirius had given him a _life_ – he had loved him unconditionally and had always been there with his lop-sided smile and a wink.

So, he’d put his wand down and instead simply stared at the men and women who had moulded him into the boy he was – for that was all he truly was, no matter how much he tried to be an adult. He was a child. A stupid, _stupid_ child.

He knew, logically, that House Malfoy could do nothing against him, but his actions would no doubt have consequences in the Wizengamot for the rest of his life. How willing would political allies be to stand beside a boy who had beaten another to within an inch of his life with his own fists?

He couldn’t see many leaping at the opportunity.

It was more than likely that at least a dozen or more students from prominent families had already written home to their parents to tell them about the shocking events of yesterday. He expected it to be in the _Daily Prophet_ by Monday, condemning him as a savage.

The door opened, and the face of Professor Lockhart appeared in the crack of the door, blinking down at him. “Yes, Potter?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore said I was to have detention with you.” Harry replied.

Lockhart paled a little, but not before clearing his throat and nodded shakily. “Right – yes, dearie me, I must have forgotten. In you come, Potter.”

Harry watched, expressionless as Lockhart opened the door wide enough for him to step through. Once he was through the door, the professor quickly closed it and turned to look at him warily.

“I think, it would be best if I hold onto your wand. Wouldn’t want you to cast anything by accident, would we?”

Harry looked at him and frowned, but complied. He flicked his wrist and felt the wand jump into his hand easily. With a quick twirl of it in his fingers, he offered it to the Defence teacher handle-first. Despite this, he still noted Lockhart fingering the handle of his own wand idly as he watched him carefully.

“Here you go, Professor Lockhart.” He said, frowning. What did the man think he was going to do? Throw a tantrum and curse him? He was a second-year student – what could he do against the likes of him?

“Yes, yes… Thank you, Harry.” Lockhart said, snatching the wand from his hand before taking a careful step back.

Harry glanced around the room – he’d never been in the classroom outside of hours before. It was a lot less disorganised than it had been when Quirrell had the run of it. Instead of bookcases piled high with various scrolls and bunches of garlic, they were covered with dozens and dozens of portraits, all of Lockhart himself, all whispering quietly among themselves as they peered down at him. They looked rather disconcerting in the glow of the candles. How anyone could surround themselves with their own picture so much was beyond him.

“Do you have some task for me? I believe I’m supposed to spend a number of hours here.” Harry asked, wandering over to the chair in which he usually sat – at the front, centre row, on the right-hand side, next to Hermione. Neville and Daphne would sit behind them, and Tracey would be on the left-hand side of the desk across the row from him. She usually sat with Susan.

“Nothing overly important, I suppose. I had planned on spending the evening responding to fan-mail – I suppose you can help me with that.” Lockhart said, quickly walking back to his desk, which was piled high with stacks of letters and parchment.

Harry grimaced and eyed the piles of parchment that was stacked precariously on Lockhart’s desk. Behind it, Harry caught a glimpse of the large, framed portrait peering down at him with a paintbrush in-hand. _Merlin_ , he despised this man.

Rather than saying anything, however, he simply stepped around his chair and moved to gather a number of the parchments from the varnished mahogany table. He lifted them carefully, aware of just how much of a job it would be to pick any of the sheets up should they flitter to the floor. He began to move back to his desk when Lockhart’s voice stopped him. “Oh, nonsense Harry – you can share my desk. There’s plenty of room.”

Harry was glad that his back was to the professor, because all the years of learning under Arcturus couldn’t have stopped the grimace that spread across his face. Instead, he took a deep breath, and turned on his heel slowly with a small smile. “Thank you, Professor Lockhart.”

The teacher gave a short nod and a small smile before he dropped his head back to the letters in his own pile.

The scraping of Harry’s stool as he shifted closer to the desk caused him to wince in the silence of the classroom. During class, it seemed like a drop in the ocean, but at night when it was but the two of them? Thankfully, the professor didn’t deign to look up from his letters and Harry could settle in and get to work. The sooner this was all over and done with, the better.

As his eyes skimmed the correspondence in his hands, he only half paid attention to it all. No doubt if Hermione were here, she’d have set up some organised method that made it so much more efficient. Neville would have likely gone with the motions, much like he was doing. Tracey would grumble and no doubt try to use a spell to make the workload easier, while Daphne would have probably given Lockhart a piece of her mind.

Who was he kidding? All three of the girls would have been sitting where he was making eyes at the fool. It seemed only Neville and he were the ones that had any sort of sense when it came to the man – _Merlin_ , even _Susan_ made eyes at him!

He felt his lip curl a little at the thought of it all. While Amelia may have said everything was just fine, he didn’t trust the man. There was something about him that rubbed him and his magic the wrong way.

Even as he sat there, scribbling out a reply to some fan or another, he felt his upper lip attempt to curl itself.

Now that he thought about it, the only girl he’d _not_ seen make eyes at the professor in one way or another was Luna Lovegood.

He pursed his lips and frowned as his quill halted momentarily at the thought of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. She was the niece of the current Lord Lovegood and lived on the land that he’d recently purchased from House Weasley. He’d introduced himself the day after the Sorting Feast – she was a wisp of a girl, even at eleven, and had been sorted into Ravenclaw.

He assumed she was happy there, as he’d sat with a bemused expression as she’d skipped to the table. Hermione had been off in her own little world, and Neville had even pointed out a student or two that were sworn to House Longbottom that had been sorted into Hufflepuff.

When he’d gotten the chance to speak to her the following day, she had been staring dreamily up at the clouds once classes had finished for the day. He’d seen her only by chance and had quickly excused himself from his friends.

They’d been walking back to the main keep of the castle when he’d caught a glimpse of Luna sitting in one of the large windows along the corridor – that dreamy, far away look he’d come to expect from her, on her face.

She’d said hello before she’d even seen him. Her voice had been soft and melodic, with just the faintest hint of the southern, Devonshire accent he’d come to expect from House Lovegood – which was interesting, seeing as the family were about as Welsh as the Welsh got.

He’d felt his magic tingle as _something_ swept over him, and in that moment, he’d never felt more exposed in his life. He remembered the feeling of the Kneazle Magic as it inspected him, but this had been something completely different.

Her words had been pleasant, and after a short conversation, the two had parted as acquaintances, if not friends – though it was easy to imagine her becoming a friend. There was something about the girl that relaxed him, that made it easy for him to talk to her and not be judged.

Harry had also made sure that she knew that if anything were to bother her while at the school, she was more than welcome to seek him out – he would always be available for the families of those that his House presided over, no matter how small the matter.

Upon re-joining his friends, Neville had shoved his shoulder and made some jokes about being surrounded by more girls than he could count, and Daphne had put a stop to that, making her own joke about how Neville thought he could count. It had been a pleasant day, and he smiled at the memory of it.

Now though, he hadn’t seen Tracey or Daphne all day – though Neville said that both were fine and would simply need time to come to terms with what he’d done. He hoped they would, though he wouldn’t blame them if they wished to distance themselves a little.

Word had spread throughout the castle as to the state of Draco. The _Prince of Slytherin_ , as his fellow housemates mockingly referred to him as, would make a full recovery with only having to spend the weekend under Madame Pomfrey’s care.

Dumbledore had kept his word and interviewed the students that had witnessed the exchange, and it seemed the school knew _why_ Harry had leapt at Draco – at least, according to Neville. It hadn’t stopped the stares and the hushed whispering when he’d stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room on his way to his detention.

Apparently, according to Neville – Lucius Malfoy himself had visited the school last night. Neville had overheard a pair of Prefects talking about it at breakfast. According to Neville, the Hufflepuff fifth year Prefects had been the one to escort him to Dumbledore’s office, but what had been said was anyone’s guess – though it _had_ been noted that he hadn’t bothered to visit Draco.

He couldn’t imagine not being visited by his family. He knew that he couldn’t expect them to be there _all_ the time when he was there for an extended stay – they all had responsibilities that demanded attention and could only be put on hold for so long. But to not even get a passing visit? He may not _like_ the boy, but he was beginning to understand why he was such a prick.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” Lockhart drawled, causing his head to look up. Harry blinked and noticed just how low his pile had gotten. “Can you possibly imagine a better way, to serve detention, than by helping me answer my fan-mail?”

“Not really.” Harry scoffed, sitting back on his stool a little as he stretched.

“Fame is a fickle friend, Harry. Celebrity is, as celebrity does. Remember that.” Lockhart said, nodding his head slowly, as if he’d just imparted some wise words of wisdom.

Harry was just about to ask what he was on about when he suddenly gripped his head with his hands on either side of his head. A pressure formed behind his eyes as it sounded like the wind was rushing by him.

“ _Come to Ruhxu… Ruhxu is free… Ruhxu has been commanded…_ ”

He stumbled back from the stool and looked around the room as he winced – the voice was so _loud_! Lockhart looked up from his desk in alarm and had his wand in his hand in an instant, but Harry didn’t care about any of that – he just wanted the voice to go away!

It left him as suddenly as it had arrived and he breathed a sigh of relief and sank to his knees, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Harry – what was that?” Lockhart demanded – the tip of his wand trembling slightly.

“Did… Did you not hear that, Professor?”

“Hear what?”

“That voice! It was so loud; I could barely hear a thing.” Harry groaned, falling forward to rest his hands on the stone slabs before him.

“Voice? What voice?” Lockhart asked slowly, his eyes darting about the room uncertainly as his wand lowered a little. “Perhaps you’re imagining things, Harry – a little drowsy and all that.” Lockhart continued, though his voice was wary and shaky to Harry’s ear. “Yes – off you go, Potter. You’ve more than served your detention, I think.”

Harry frowned at the quick dismissal and the way that Lockhart was looking everywhere in the room but at him. “If you think so, sir – I’ll need my wand back, though.”

“Yes, yes – of course. Go on, off you get.”

Harry took the wand that was pushed into his chest as he was led from the room. It felt like he’d blinked, and he was suddenly in the corridor with his wand in hand as the door slammed shut behind him.

He frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the plain door – what had all that been about? There was no possible way that Lockhart hadn’t heard that. He glanced up and down the corridors and heaved a sigh – it was no doubt approaching curfew, judging by the dark sky and the pale moonlight filtering in through the tall windows.

He stowed his wand away on his wrist and began making his way back to the Gryffindor Tower, his heels click-clacking against the stone beneath him.

There were a few times when he thought he heard something distantly, or he felt like he was being watched – but each time he would turn around to check, there would be nothing and nobody there. It was unsettling.

He was just about to turn to check once more – his magic was flaring danger now – when he was stopped short by the sound of water beneath his feet. He glanced down and noticed the entire corridor was flooded before him. Had a pipe burst?

He continued onward and rounded a corner and gasped at the sight of a pair of feet on the floor at the far end of the corridor, just sticking out of the corner. He rushed forward and flicked his wand out into his hand as his eyes swept back and forth. He skidded to a halt, the water splashing about him in small waves and splashing up the far wall as he took the girl in.

She had blonde hair and was soaked through, and her skin was as pale as a corpse while her eyes stared up at the ceiling in horror. He dropped to his knee quickly and pressed his fingers to her neck for a pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when he found one.

“Clara!” He called into the corridor; the familiar ball of flame burst to life just above his head as she flapped her powerful wings. “Get Professor Dumbledore – there’s been an attack!”

She disappeared almost instantly, and reappeared with the Headmaster, who looked around in befuddlement for a moment before his face turned to stone as he took in the sight of Harry and the girl he was knelt over.

“Harry – what’s going on here?” He asked, kneeling to take a look at the girl.

“I don’t know, Headmaster – I just came from detention with Lockhart and found her. Will she be alright?”

Dumbledore didn’t respond. Instead, he knelt and started waving his wand over the prone figure, chanting under his breath in a language that Harry had never heard before.

Panic and fear rose in him like an angry beast. Who had done this?

“Petrified,” the Headmaster sighed, leaning back and rolling his wand arm’s wrist. “Powerfully, too.”

“Headmaster?”

Before the headmaster could respond, there were dozens of students around him, and even Clara’s cawing did nothing to keep them from getting too close.

“Potter! It’s Potter!”

The whispers rippled through the students, and he heard more and more arriving from every direction as members of the staff pushed through the crowd.

“That’s Penelope, that is!”

“The Ravenclaw Prefect?”

“Did Potter kill her?”

“That’ll be enough of that!” Dumbledore bellowed, silencing the students as Professor McGonagall arrived.

“Oh my – Albus…” She muttered, her hand leaping to her mouth as she stared up at the wall. Harry’s gaze followed hers, and he gasped at the words written – _in blood_.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._


	27. Harry XVIII

The days following the discovery of the petrified Penelope Clearwater had been fraught with tension. Everywhere, students whispered in small huddles and proposed ideas of just who had attacked her in such a vicious manner.

That the poor girl hadn’t even been able to draw her wand to defend herself was bad enough – that many in the castle already seemed to have made up their minds that _he_ had petrified her was just the icing on the proverbial cake.

The first he’d heard the whispering had been the following morning as he’d arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast alongside Hermione and Neville – the two pillars in his life at the moment. The twins were the only ones from Gryffindor that associated with him openly. In his darker moments, he couldn’t help but think that was more because of their role with House Black than him as a person.

He had sat there, absently nibbling at a bowl of fruit with Neville and Hermione on either side of him, both equally as quiet, while those on Gryffindor table and the other nearby tables openly stared at him and whispered – sometimes, they didn’t even bother to whisper.

He understood their initial fear with what he had done to Draco – but he’d had nothing to do with Penelope. Not that it seemed to matter any to Ravenclaw House. Of all the students he’d had to deal with over the last week, it had been the Ravenclaws that had been the most openly hostile. He didn’t blame them – not really – one of their own had been attacked and hospitalised until the cure could be brewed. In a way, he admired how they had come together – he just wished it hadn’t been against _him_.

Harry sighed as he leaned back on the trunk of the tree behind him and ran a hand down his face, trying to push the memories of breakfast out of his mind and stared out at the Black Lake. Neville was perched on a branch above him, while Hermione was perched comfortably on a dry patch of grass, her cloak neatly tucked under her to protect her uniform.

His breath fogged before his eyes in a fine mist, and his nose scrunched a little as the cold breeze tickled it. On the far side of the lake, a large tentacle burst from the water before slapping the surface playfully.

“What do you think it eats in there?” Neville asked, pulling his cloak around him a little tighter as the wind picked up for a moment. The two of them had forgone their uniform coats, instead pulling their usual cloaks out for the better protection against the cold – though Harry had debated simply having Clara set him alight, if only to warm his fingers.

“Not sure – what _do_ squid eat?” Harry shrugged; his voice soft.

“Fish, crabs, crustaceans – though, I’m not sure what a _giant_ squid would eat.” Hermione replied, not looking up from the book she was reading. Harry glanced at her and pursed his lips a little as he nodded.

“Big fish?” Neville offered, leaning back against the trunk of the tree as he pulled his right knee to his chest and allowed his left leg to swing back and forth lazily.

“I doubt there’s a population large enough for the squid to survive on indefinitely – _Hogwarts: A History_ mentions the Giant Squid being here for centuries. Perhaps it has access to the ocean?” Hermione replied, glancing up from her book to the boy in the tree.

“Or it could feed on magic – Hogwarts and the grounds are steeped in it.” Harry suggested, turning back to look at the lake.

“It’s possible.” Hermione nodded, turning to look at her book once again.

As they settled into a comfortable, if lacklustre, silence, Harry allowed his mind to wander. There were two missing members of their group – Daphne and Tracey. Both had avoided the three Gryffindors for the last week, despite the best efforts of both Hermione and Neville.

Harry had simply allowed them their space, despite how much it bothered him. It was the first true distance that had appeared between himself and Daphne in all the time they had known one another. Ever since they were six, and he and Neville had been beaten by Daphne and that stick of hers, they had all been as thick as thieves – they weren’t friends, they were _family_.

He missed Daphne’s quiet presence, and the way Tracey would hum as she thought about whatever was on her mind. He missed how Daphne would scold him and roll her eyes at something he’d say, and how Tracey would try to stifle her giggles behind her hands.

While his friends would sit in their usual seats, Harry had retreated to the rear of the classes. He had wanted to disappear into the sea of faces, hidden away from student and professor alike – something that had led to a small argument between himself and Neville.

Neville believed in confronting the issue and getting it sorted in short order, but that wouldn’t help the situation. Daphne had _flinched_ from him – for the first time in her life, she was _afraid_ of him.

The Longbottom heir wouldn’t understand that, _couldn’t_ understand that. The way Neville viewed the world was too clear cut for either Harry or Daphne – once Neville befriended you, he was with you until the end, no matter what. Harry treasured the faith Neville had in him, but it wasn’t the same for Daphne.

Daphne was far more cynical – something he’d always attributed to being the heir to House Greengrass. As she had no brother, the title would one day fall to her, and there were far too many opportunistic men _and_ women who would see their second or third sons usurp what was rightfully hers.

He knew of just how many suitors had approached Castor and even Daphne herself over the years, some far too old to be approaching her in the first place, he thought. As much as he detested the thought of it, Daphne would only remain a friend of anyone for as long as it suited her.

That she would one day distance herself from him had never once entered his mind. They had been through so much together over the years, and he had come to rely on her in a way he couldn’t rely on Neville. Neville was brave, and courageous, but he often acted without thinking things through – the whole incident at the end of first year was enough of an example of that. Daphne was his caution. She tempered his hot head at times and allowed him to see things from another perspective.

He had imagined the two of them at his side for the rest of his life – Sirius had even suggested a betrothal between himself and Daphne just after his tenth birthday. Daphne would have passed the title on to Astoria, but Harry wouldn’t have any of it. Harry would marry for love, and while he did love Daphne – he didn’t love her in _that_ way.

That she wasn’t at his side now _hurt_. The betrayal of her distance stung worse than the cutting curse he had suffered at the hands of Voldemort – it was like there was a gaping wound that just wouldn’t close. Perhaps, in time she would come around, or maybe she wouldn’t – perhaps the last conversation he would ever have with Daphne was the talk on Animagi.

He sighed and pulled his cloak around him a little tighter. How Hermione was sat so comfortable and unaffected by the weather like she was, was beyond his understanding.

“Do you think if you stare at the lake any longer, that it might burst into flame?” Neville asked from above him.

“It’s worth a try.” He replied, his jaw twitching as he breathed in the frigid air deeply. The air was at its freshest in the winter – everything felt so clean, particularly this far into the north. It was hard not to appreciate it.

“Thinking about Daphne?”

“Aye – it’s hard not to.” Harry sighed, closing his eyes briefly.

“She’ll come around.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” He snapped, glaring up at the boy in the tree. After a moment, he glanced away, his shoulders sagging beneath the cloak. “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I’d rather you did sometimes, honestly.” Neville snorted as he hopped down from the thick branch. “Reminds me you’re human, just like the rest of us.”

“Of course I’m human.” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted to his left against the trunk a little. Neville took the invitation for what it was and joined him.

“It’s hard to remember that sometimes, you know.” Hermione said, the dull thud of her thick book slamming shut as she stood slowly, tucking her book into her bag as she did so.

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to respond, only for the words to die in his throat.

“You’re Harry to _us_ , but to so many people, you’re _Harry Potter_ – this larger than life figure straight out of the modern history books!” Hermione continued, carefully placing her bag against the tree, and taking up position next to him on his left – it was a tight fit, but they managed it.

“You’re more than a little intimidating at times.” Neville chuckled, causing Harry to look at him. “Oh, don’t give me that look – everyone felt just how powerful you were last year in _Introduction to Magic_.”

“I’m not-“

“He’s right, you know.” Hermione breathed, her soft voice interrupting him. “You were the first person I felt when I meditated in class. You were _everywhere_ , all at once! It was a little overwhelming.”

“What’s this got to do with anything?” He demanded, closing his eyes as a pressure began to build at the back of his head. How many times had he had this conversation with Neville or _Daphne_ over the years?

“What I’m _trying_ to tell you is just how easy it is to forget you’re just a person sometimes – _Merlin_ , Harry, I’ve never known anyone else in our year to pick up spells like you do, besides Hermione, and we both know neither of us can compete with her!” Neville said, pushing off the tree and pacing away a few steps. Hermione snorted quietly to his left but made no motion to move.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, looking at her.

She shook her head, a tiny smirk on her lips, which were pursed a little – a habit she had when she was thinking of something. “Nothing – Neville getting himself worked up is always rather funny.”

Harry snorted quietly – she wasn’t wrong.

“He’s right – Neville, I mean.” Hermione muttered, resting her head on his shoulder. For a moment, he went as still as a rock, before relaxing and letting out the breath that had caught in his throat. “You’ll be a great wizard someday-“

“Books and cleverness?” Harry snorted, gently nudging her in the ribs as a small grin split his face.

She shoved him slightly, but it had no real force behind it. “That’s not what I mean.” She sighed, though as he glanced down at her, he could see the small smile. “You’ll go down in history, you know – and not just because of what happened all those years ago.”

“You’re awfully certain.”

She shrugged against him. “It’s what I believe – you’re not quite like any other person I’ve ever met. Yes, what you did to Draco was terrible, but like I told you – you’re a good person. I believe you’ll do great things both, before and after we graduate.”

“Well, if you believe it, I suppose it must be true.”

“It’s not just me that thinks it. All of us do, even Daphne, and Tracey.”

Harry frowned at the mention of the two girls. “They’ve got an odd way of showing they believe in me.” He sighed, leaning his head against the oak behind him.

“People deal with things differently – it was one of the first things I remember my parents telling me when I was little.”

“Little-er.” Harry chuckled, his eyes watching the clouds pass overhead through the bare branches of the tree.

“I’m not that much smaller than you!” Hermione protested, poking his ribs with her finger. “You’re barely half a forehead taller.” She sniffed.

“It still counts.”

“You’re trying to change the conversation.”

“Just noticed that one, did you?”

“You have the subtlety of a brick.” Hermione snorted. Neville wandered back over to the two of them, an apologetic smile on his face as he scratched at his cheek.

“Sorry, Harry.”

“Nothing to apologise for.” He replied, shrugging. “We’ve had that conversation plenty of times over the years though, don’t you think?” He asked, cocking a brow.

“Aye – but one day you’ll stop being so bloody stubborn.” Neville muttered, kicking a small stone. “Sirius always said perseverance is key.”

“ _Merlin_ , Neville – he was talking about _women_.” Harry groaned, and Hermione gasped quietly before she tried to stifle her giggles with her hand. “ _Not_ about trying to tell me how much power I have at my fingertips.”

“What’s the difference?” Neville grinned. “A good woman by your side, and you’d conquer the world!”

“I’d rather let the world rot for now.” He chuckled, adjusting his grip on the inside of his cloak – the wolf pelt around his shoulders tickled his chin as the few loose strands of hair flowed gently in the breeze.

“You don’t mean that.” Hermione chided, slapping his arm lightly. “You’re one of the most selfless people I know.”

“If this week has been anything to go by, I’d rather leave them to it, I think.” He muttered, quickly stifling a yawn.

He’d barely gotten a single night’s sleep all week. Each night, he was visited by the spectre of Clara Appleton – she would lay there in his dreams, staring up at him blankly with her remaining eye. Chunks of her brain and fragments of her skull were all around and blood matted her dark hair. No matter how much he tried, he could never look away.

Sometimes, it was just Clara haunting his dreams, other times, it was the Troll. The Troll would come storming in, and there was nothing that he could do as it tossed him bodily around and beat him bloody with its giant club.

There were other dreams, of course – some that hadn’t even had the opportunity to fade away for any period of time. These were a little easier to deal with, yet just as unpleasant. Ever since the end of the last year, he would dream of the face protruding from the back of Quirrell’s head, hissing for the man to kill him.

Occasionally, he would survive, only to be crushed by the inescapable weight of the ceiling collapsing atop of him as the dust choked him. It was these dreams that had him waking in a cold sweat, panting, and stumbling from his bed as he scrambled to a corner of his room, his wand clutched painfully in his hand.

More often than not, he spent the restless nights curled around Clara and Hedwig, both birds fluttering from their perches over to his bed or the corner he was cowering in. Clara would wrap herself around him, one of her powerful wings spread over his trembling body like a blanket; Hedwig would nestle herself into his chest. Sometimes, he would be able to drift back off to sleep, still clutching his wand like it was his only lifeline. Other times, he would remain awake for the rest of the night, his eyes darting this way and that, every shadow a new terror.

He’d had nightmares for so many years, it was almost strange to think of a time when he had mostly pleasant dreams consistently. The dreams of Clara were terrifying, and he would feel ill in the following morning, but he could deal with them. The dreams of the Troll were equally as terrifying, but he’d beaten it – it couldn’t harm him, or anyone else, anymore.

The dreams where he stood looking down the wand of Voldemort were different. Voldemort was the architect of all of the misery in his life – he was the sole reason for being an orphan, and he was supposed to have been dead for a decade.

Even now, with the Black Lake stretching out before him, he could remember the conversation with Sirius and Remus _perfectly_ , where they’d _promised_ him that he was gone – that he’d never have to worry about him ever again.

It wasn’t their fault, he knew that, but there was a steadily growing pit of cold dread that had been forming in his gut ever since he woke up to Hermione reading to him, and his following conversation with Dumbledore. Eventually, in some way or another, Voldemort would come for him – and the very idea of that _terrified_ him.

He closed his eyes as he allowed his head to loll back against the tree, the messy bun at the back of his head offering a little padding against the rough bark. He breathed deeply, knowing it would help calm him – already, he could feel his heart pumping faster at the thought of Voldemort.

All around him, he could feel the presence of students – their magic mixing together and saturating the soil and the stone around them. There were so many that it was almost impossible to distinguish who was who, though a few stood out. While he knew Hermione was to his immediate left, her magic was like a small sun and he felt warmed by its presence.

Neville was also one he could make out from the magic around him – his magic was wild and fierce. In their younger years, Neville had initially struggled to get a grasp on his magic, and for a time, it had made him a nervous wreck – he had been terrified of being named a _Squib_ , especially as the last heir to the Longbottom family.

He could feel Daphne in the castle somewhere, and he tentatively reached out and brushed her magic. It was a mistake, he knew, even as he felt her initial happiness, only for her to withdraw into herself and effectively shield herself against his magic.

Rebuffed, he sank further into the ocean of magic around him – just like they’d been taught to do from the very first lesson of _Introduction to Magic_ in first year. All around, he could feel the insects flitting through the air, and the small fish darting about the lake. He could feel the plants growing, and the roots of the trees burrowing deeper.

High above, he could feel Clara soaring through the sky as she wove between the clouds, singing her song to the world. While he couldn’t physically hear it, he could feel the magic it was seeped in, and allowed himself to bask in it, if only for a moment. It was relaxing and helped to ease the burdens on his mind – for now, at the very least.

He brushed his mind against Clara, and he could feel her joy as she rolled through the air, tucking her wings tightly into her body as her tail-feathers burst into powerful flames. If he could have grinned, he would have. Her elation was almost palpable – it had been too long since the two of them had played in the air and pushed themselves to their limits.

Harry would have laughed if he could – he watched her as she pushed her body to its limit as she dived and banked, eventually breaking through the bottom layer of the clouds and diving toward a lush forest of evergreen trees by one of the nearby mountains around Hogwarts.

He could feel the wind as it rustled Clara’s feathers, and he could see the prey that she had spotted – it was a young deer. It stood in a clearing, and through Clara’s powerful eyes, he could even see the grass it chewed lazily.

He left Clara to her meal and instead continued to move along the currents of magic, allowing it to direct where he went without a care. It was so much better to be in this state than his physical body by the lake – for a moment, he thought never to return – content to simply drift for the rest of eternity.

Time had no meaning when one was immersed in magic, you simply _were_. It was a hard concept for him to wrap his mind around throughout the last year at Hogwarts, but eventually he managed it. There was nothing quite like reaching out with his mind and feeling _everything_ around him. Some were more gifted with the ability than others, such as Padma and Parvati Patil – their connection to _Wild Magic_ was stunning to behold. It had been no surprise that they had grasped the concept first.

He allowed himself to drift closer to the mountain – it was the one on the far side of the Black Lake, and already he could feel the city of Dwarves that occupied its hollow centre. He passed through dirt and stone and was immediately assaulted with the magic and emotions of the denizens before him.

He couldn’t _see_ them, of course – there was no sight when immersed in magic. Sight was a physical concept. Instead, he had to rely on the _feel_ and the _magic_ of the environment to tell him what it could.

Dwarves were interesting beings – genius architects and craftsmen. They were short – never growing past five feet and corded with hard muscle. Their bodies, while smaller than a human’s, were tough, and their sense of direction was unparalleled.

All around him, he could feel them as they went about their day – some were, no doubt, selling their wares, others toiling with the stone, while others laughed and drank among companions. It was the latter that he felt himself the most drawn to.

He wove his consciousness between the corridors and the halls that spiderwebbed the mountain until he found the largest gathering of joy that he could find. He hovered above them all, drinking the emotion in – it was like its own form of magic – while the Dwarves were completely unaware of it all.

He basked in the warmth of their laughter, and their raucous jokes. It was like a balm to his soul. Dwarves were incredibly social creatures within their own species – it was rare outside of their own cities to find a Dwarf with a smile on its face. There was something about the unhinged joy from the crowd around him that soothed him and made him forget his worries, if only for a moment.

How long he remained there, he didn’t know. While his mind was buried deep within a mountain on the far side of the lake, his body was still resting against a thick oak tree in the early November air in Northern Scotland, so it was little surprise when he felt something pushing his arm.

It was an odd sensation, to feel your body jostled from well over a mile away.

He snapped back to his body with a gasp, and for a few moments, he could see nothing but two sources of blinding light as he blinked at the lake. Slowly, figures formed, and he could see Neville and Hermione looking at him worriedly – Neville was shifting his weight from foot to foot, while Hermione was gripping his arms and shaking him.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, and for a moment, he had to resist burying his face into the palms of his hands. His head throbbed, and his eyes were sore. All of the exhaustion and the weight of the last few months came rushing back to him in a single instant, and he found himself gasping for breath.

He sank to the cold, hard ground beneath him – the grass crunched under his weight, and he ignored the inevitable damp that the lingering frost would leave on his cloak. Hermione sank with him, slowing his descent as best she could, and Neville was at his side as quick as anything.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide and shiny.

He continued to suck in as much air into his lungs as he could, but the short gasps that he managed did nothing to help calm his racing heart. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what it was.

His fingers gripped the cloak that had pooled around him, and he clung to it, anchoring himself. He closed his eyes, scrunching them shut as he forced his breathing to even out – he breathed deeply through his mouth, before exhaling through his nose. Something tickled his top lip, and with a quick swipe of the back of his hand, he wiped it away – only for Hermione to gasp.

Harry snapped his eyes open at the sound and followed her eyes to the bloody back of his hand. He grimaced – that was all he needed on top of everything else – a damn nosebleed of all things. A groan slipped through his lips, and he felt his head roll back against the tree.

His breath was shaky as his eyes flickered between his two friends – Neville’s face was flushed, and he looked a little panicked, while Hermione looked worried beyond all rational thought.

“I’m fine.” He croaked – his throat felt dry, and his voice was scratchy. His teeth ground themselves together, while his limbs twitched sporadically.

“What happened?” Neville asked, the panicked look melting away into a piercing stare that Harry hadn’t been the victim of for years. “You were fine one minute, and then Hermione tried to say something to you, and the next you’re gasping and dropping to the floor.”

“It was nothing.”

“Harry James Potter, it was not _nothing_!” Hermione snapped, scowling at him. “You can’t just collapse and start bleeding and call it _nothing_!”

There was nothing but the gentle sounds of the waves of the lake lapping at the nearby shoreline for a few moments. Neville and Hermione continued to stare – glare, in Hermione’s case – at him. Neville was on his knees, his cloak with the brown bear-pelt around his shoulders was pooled at his feet, and Hermione was busy placing the back of her hand against both of his cheeks and forehead.

“I _meditated_ a little.” He sighed after he could take their looks no longer. He shifted awkwardly against the roots of the oak tree behind him.

“ _Meditating_ did that to you?” Neville scoffed. “What could you have been meditating on that gave you a nosebleed?”

“I don’t know!” He ground out. “One minute I’m in that mountain over there-“ He began, pointing at the mountain in the distance. “and the next I’m back here.”

“You were in the mountain?” Hermione murmured, rocking back on her heels as her mouth fell open. “ _Harry_ , that’s…”

“ _Mad_.” Neville muttered, nodding his head slowly. “Completely mad.”

“Why did you bring me out of it?” He grouched; his voice more petulant than he’d meant to be.

“People are beginning to head toward the building they set up by the Quidditch Pitch.” Hermione answered him, pointing to where there was a steady stream of students moving along the path.

He’d forgotten about the damn club that had been made mandatory. How he had managed to let it slip from his mind was beyond him – Dumbledore had organised its construction immediately following the discovery of Penelope Clearwater, and building had begun the following day.

It was a large temporary structure that had been built on the grounds next to the Quidditch Pitch. It looked so out of place alongside the tall, colourful wooden stands and large flags. It was a squat building, with smooth granite walls and large windows all around, with the occasional large, double door. He’d seen Dwarves erecting it during the Quidditch Practice on Tuesday night, when Wood had been putting him through his paces – though the directions had been short and clipped.

Not even the Quidditch team interacted with him beyond the bare minimum.

He sighed as he pushed himself to his feet, groaning a little at how stiff and sore his muscles felt. “Well, I suppose we’d better make a move then.”

“Woah, woah – are we just brushing off the fact you let yourself wander _so far_?” Neville demanded, holding a hand to Harry’s chest as he stepped around Hermione.

“I don’t see what the damn problem is, Neville.” Harry growled, narrowing his eyes on his best friend.

Neville, unperturbed by his stare, glanced at Hermione. “Can you go on ahead? We’ll meet you there.”

“If you’re sure?” She asked, wringing her hands a little as Neville nodded. “I’ll see about saving you both a spot.” She murmured, glancing worriedly between the two of them. Harry watched as she bent down to pick her bag up before she slung it over her shoulder and hurried off toward the path.

Neville rounded on him instantly, his eyes furious. “What in _Avalon_ do you think you were doing?” Neville demanded, shoving Harry in the chest a little. “Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous something like that is?”

“I know just as well as you.” He snapped in return, scowling. “I’m sorry if I enjoyed the peace and quiet for a little bit.”

“This isn’t about that and you damn-well know that!”

“Well maybe I don’t – because all I’m hearing at the moment is that you’re pissed I meditated and let my mind wander.” Harry scowled, shoving Neville’s arm away.

“You could have _died_ , Harry! Don’t you see that? Do you even _care_? Because right now, you’re acting like a right prick.”

“ _I’m_ a prick?” He demanded, his scowl becoming a glower. “I’m an arse for wanting to get away from the stares and the whispers? Neville, it’s been a _week_ – how _the fuck_ am I supposed to deal with this for the rest of the year?”

“Aye, it’s been a week – but the Harry _I_ know would care about the effect he has on those around him. How do you think Hermione would have reacted, or _I_ would have reacted, to you losing your mind because you took a stroll around a mountain?” Neville snapped, shoving Harry’s shoulder – his face red and contorted with a fierce scowl. There were few things that could get Neville’s temper going, but when it did… “How do you think Daphne would have felt, Tracey? How about Sirius or Remus?”

“I wouldn’t know much of how Daphne and Tracey would feel these days, now would I?”

“Is that what this is about?”

“What _what_ is about, Neville? Am I pissed that Daphne and Tracey aren’t here? You’re _damn_ right I am!” Harry snapped, shoving Neville back a step. “She _flinched_ from me – they _both_ did. Tracey I could understand, but _Daphne_? Now they’ve abandoned me!”

Neville remained where he was, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “So Daphne disappears for a week and suddenly you’re willing to risk your _mind_? Harry, you could have killed yourself!”

“Maybe I’m just _tired_ of it all – have you thought about that? I know how most people have seen me since the Troll, Neville. I know what they’re saying now – they’re not exactly being subtle about it.”

Harry shoved his way past his best friend and pulled his cloak around himself a little tighter as the breeze threatened to blow it open. Away from the shelter of the bare tree, the wind was stronger and far more biting – and he had to walk to the far side of the Quidditch Pitch before he could get some shelter.

The sound of Neville’s hurried steps as he raced to catch up was the only thing he could hear above the wind, and he winced as a gust blew directly into his face, making the corners of his eyes water.

The two continued in silence – Harry wasn’t truly angry at Neville, he wasn’t even sure such a thing was actually possible, and he knew Neville wasn’t angry with him.

“I can hear you at night, you know.” Neville said as the Quidditch Pitch came into view. The wind was a little less biting, and the gravel path crunched beneath their boots.

“What?” Harry frowned, snapping his eyes to Neville.

“Your nightmares – you call out in your sleep before you wake up.”

“You can hear me?” Harry blinked, shocked. He had assumed, wrongly, that the walls were thick enough that his secret would remain just that – a secret.

“Every night of the year so far.” Neville replied without looking at him – the boy just continued to stare directly ahead, the muscles in his jaw twitching steadily.

“It’s nothing.” He muttered, returning his eyes to the path ahead. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not _nothing_.” Neville groaned, wiping his hands down his face. “It’s okay to _not_ be fine, Harry – _Merlin_ , you’ve been through more than most in only a year. I’d be going insane in your shoes!”

“Drop it, Neville.”

“No.”

“What?” He snapped, scowling at the boy. “What is _so_ difficult about respecting my privacy?”

“Because I bloody well care about you, you idiot – would you pull your head out of your arse for just a minute?” Neville demanded, grabbing Harry’s arm, and stopping in the middle of the path. “You’re as good as my brother – if I see or hear something bothering you, you know I’m going to try and fix it if I can.”

“And what if it can’t be fixed? What then?” Harry snapped, yanking his arm from Neville’s grip. “Not everything can be fixed – we know that better than most.”

Neville blinked and almost stumbled back at step at the tone of his words – it had come out harsher than he’d meant it to, but his words were true. They _did_ know better than most. Neville’s parents were mad from torture, and his own parents were dead, buried in the dark crypt of Arpton Keep.

“Then I’ll be there to help you with whatever it is – I’m your man, from this day until the end of my days. You’re my friend, and you’re my _brother_. You’re the family that I _chose_ – Daphne too. You don’t have to deal with everything on your own, you pig-headed shit.”

Harry couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “ _I’m_ the pig-headed one?”

“You are if I say you are.” Neville shrugged, smirking. “It’s my right as the eldest of the two of us.”

“It’s a day – it barely counts.” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes.

“But it counts, nonetheless. Now, tell your big brother what’s keeping you up at night.” Neville grinned, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck playfully.

Harry sighed before ducking out of the grip, though not without first rolling his eyes. “Voldemort.” He said, finally.

Neville stopped dead, the smile leaving his face instantly. “What about him?”

He turned to face him and had to fight the urge to tug and pull at his hair in his frustration. “I told you about the conversation Dumbledore and I had after the whole thing at the end of last year, right?” Neville nodded. “Voldemort’s going to keep coming for me, he thinks. He might not – he thinks I’m the only one Voldemort fears – but there’s still every chance.”

Neville stepped up to him silently and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Harry-“ Neville began, and Harry glanced at him. Neville’s eyes were shiny, and so, _so_ sad – he didn’t think he’d ever seen Neville so melancholy before. Looking at him, with only the two of them on the path – it nearly broke the last of his strength. The corners of his eyes stung in a way which had nothing to do with the wind – he sniffed and felt his chest lurch.

He lunged at Neville and threw his arms around the boy, shaking into his shoulder as he suppressed the tears that threatened to escape. “I’m so scared – I don’t want to die.” He murmured, squeezing his best friend.

“You won’t die.” Neville whispered into his hair as he squeezed him tightly. “Wherever you go, I go. If he turns up, he’ll have to deal with the _both_ of us – I don’t think he’ll be able to manage that.”

Harry shuddered a laugh and stepped back – his breath was shaky, and his eyes felt moist, but he hadn’t turned into a mess.

“So you dream about him coming after you? Is that what I hear you calling out about?” Neville asked, his brow creasing a little.

Harry shook his head slowly and chewed on his lips. “No – I’m back in the chamber with him. Sometimes he kills me, other times I’m crushed by the ceiling.”

“Harry – why haven’t you said anything about this before?”

“Didn’t want to bother any of you with it – it’s my problem, not yours.” He shrugged as he glanced at the building ahead of them. It looked so strange in comparison to the rest of the school.

“That’s a load of shit, and you know it.” Neville sighed before throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “You’re the biggest pain in my arse, you know that?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Should I remind you that the whole reason we ended up down that trapdoor was your fault?” Harry cocked a brow at the boy next to him, and the corner of his lip twitched upwards.

Neville at least had the decency to look pained at the memory of it all. “Aye, I remember – I got thrown across a chamber, remember?”

“Oh I remember – I had to bring the ceiling down on that thing.”

“You make it sound like such a chore.” Neville sighed, shaking his head slowly. “Come on, lets see what all the fuss is about – how much are you betting Hermione flays us for being late?”

“That’s a sucker’s bet, and you know it.” Harry snorted as they arrived at the large double doors. Neville pulled his arm from around Harry’s shoulders and pushed the door open with a shove.

The interior was spacious and open, and all around were long, thin wooden platforms – _duelling platforms_ – that filled the spaces between the groups of students. Having stepped through the threshold, the room was a comfortable temperature, and so the two of them quickly shrugged their cloaks over their heads.

With a quiet pop, a House Elf appeared before them – its arms were outstretched as it gestured to their cloaks in their hands. Harry shrugged at Neville and gently lowered the cloak into the creature’s arms, Neville following shortly after. The soft pop of it leaving without a single word had his thoughts momentarily drift to Lispy – how was she doing? He hadn’t gotten a chance to spend much time with her over the Summer, and loathe as he was to admit it, he missed the way she would fuss over him.

With his cloak removed, he felt lighter. The two of them had left Madame Pomfrey’s lecture that afternoon and hurried back to Gryffindor to change out of their uniform. Glancing around the room, it seemed a number of other students had shared their desire to be in something comfortable.

Harry was clad in his usual boots, breeches, and a loose, comfortable grey tunic, while Neville was dressed in boots, breeches and a fine doublet that was cinched by the belt that had become a constant addition since the wedding.

He blinked and glanced around the room – the whispers were a low rumble that echoed in the high, vaulted ceiling. It seemed most had come to the same conclusion – they were going to be learning how to duel. No doubt it had been the idea of the staff to introduce some sort of basic self-defence for everyone until Penelope was healed and the identity of her attacker was revealed.

He reached out his arm and tapped Neville on the shoulder with the back of his hand before pointing to the far side of the room. There, amongst the crowd, was a familiar bushy head of hair. The two set off immediately, weaving between the crowds until they were beside her.

“Harry! Neville! You’re just in time – is everything alright?” Hermione gasped, looking between the two of them wide-eyed. She, like most of the others in the room, had removed her cloak. Why she hadn’t gotten changed into something other than the shirt and jumper that she usually wore as part of her uniform, he didn’t know.

“As good as can be, I suppose.” Harry shrugged, clasping his hands at the small of his back as he stood next to her.

“You just missed Daphne and Tracey.” Hermione murmured, wincing as she caught his brief grimace. “They’ll come around, Harry – they just need time.”

“I know – doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

“The most worthwhile things in life are rarely easy.” She shrugged in reply.

“When did you get so wise? Are you hiding a long white beard somewhere?”

Hermione scoffed and swatted at his arm. “I’ll have you know that one doesn’t require a beard to be wise.” She sniffed.

Before he could respond, something brushed against his magic and he grinned as his head snapped up toward the main platform. He caught sight of Professor Lockhart, who was pacing the length of the platform with a thin cloak hanging over his left shoulder.

“Gather round, gather round!” He called, smiling as all the students began to congregate around him. Harry noticed a lot of the girls were far more enthusiastic than the boys. “Can everybody see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent.” Lockhart grinned, spinning on his heel and placing his hand on his hip.

Harry had followed the crowd, and a surprisingly sedate Hermione, who had dragged him and Neville by the wrist toward the front, ducking under elbows and weaving around bodies.

“In light of the dark events of the past week, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you up, in case you ever need to defend yourselves!” Lockhart gestured behind him, and Harry grinned excitedly when he saw the familiar head of dark hair.

“As there are so many of you, across so many levels of education, Professor Dumbledore has reached out to a number of experienced wizards and witches in an effort to ensure you have the best education possible. Please, give a large round of applause for the men and women who have so graciously given up their time!” Lockhart called as over two dozen men and women joined him on the stage, though Harry only cared about two of them.

Sirius and Remus.

Sirius caught his eye and winked playfully at him – as usual, he was adorned in his armour – the Mithril gorget glinting in the soft light of the room. Remus grinned wolfishly at him, dressed in a similar armour, though the sigil of House Black was on his breast, rather than the gorget.

“Harry, you didn’t tell me Sirius and Remus were getting in on this!” Neville whispered excitedly, positively vibrating on the spot.

“I didn’t know!” Harry whispered back, clapping as enthusiastically as he could.

“Oh, just think of how much they could teach us!” Hermione gushed; her smile wide.

Lockhart was busy rattling off names of the volunteers and the professors that had joined him – such as McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Cantrill, and a few others – but when he got to his godfather and uncle, Harry made sure to cheer the loudest.

Sirius was a well-known, powerful wizard who had fought in the last war against Voldemort. While he had nearly been sent to Azkaban, he had still brought more than a few feared wizards and witches down – something Harry had first-hand experience witnessing.

Remus, while calmer and far more subtle with his magic than Sirius, was equally as powerful – though his talents lay in helping others, rather than fighting. To learn something from _either_ of them was a dream come true – he hadn’t even been able to get them to duel him at Arpton!

“Now, we shall be splitting you all into groups based on your age.” Lockhart began with a clap of his hands. “However, it has been suggested that you may all benefit from witnessing a duel first-hand – if you could all give a round of applause for my lovely assistant – Professor Snape!”

The room broke out into hushed whispers as the _Potions_ professor remained where he was, while the other assistants, including Sirius and Remus, filed from the platform – though he did catch the two adults snickering to one another.

“He has sportingly agreed to help with this demonstration. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry – you’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m through with him. Never fear” There was a snort from the far side of the room that sounded suspiciously like Sirius.

Harry watched as the two professors pulled their wands out and turned to face one another. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe – this was Christmas come early. Surely Lockhart, for all that he was an arrogant arse, could take him – after all, he’d faced far worse than _Snape_ in his books.

The two professors stood nose to nose, their wands raised and pointed to the ceiling as the two bowed a little. Snape looked his usual dour self, and appeared as if he wished to be anywhere but on the platform – no doubt Lockhart would put him down, and Harry could remember it fondly the next time Snape threatened to destroy one of his potions.

The two wizards spun away and marched five paces away from one another as a magical shield shimmered into existence between the spectators and the fighters. The two took up their opening stances – Harry frowned a little at Lockhart’s – he stood with most of his weight on his back foot, his front leg stretched before him in a wide stance, and his free hand on his waist.

Snape, on the other hand, looked like a viper ready to pounce – he was tightly coiled, and even through the dark, billowing robes, Harry could see the tension in his posture.

“One.” Lockhart began, his eyes locked firmly on Snape at the far end of the platform. Harry grimaced.

“Two.” Hermione gripped his wrist.

“Three!”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Snape bellowed, pouncing from his position. Harry watched with wide eyes as the spell shot from the tip of his wand toward the _Defence_ professor. Lockhart looked panicked at the sight of the angry-looking mass of magical energy before he snapped a large shield up before him.

The impact of the spell was enough to knock Lockhart back a pace, and his shield wavered. Lockhart responded, however, with a series of offensive spells – most had the pronunciation slightly off, and as a result, they looked far less powerful than Snape’s opening salvo.

Snape batted them aside lazily like they were mere insects, before returning fire with a number of silent spells. Harry was used to spells being cast silently – after all, that was how almost everyone fought at Arpton – his arse was still sore from Felix’s lessons.

Lockhart managed to shield himself from the first two spells that impacted his shield, but the third blew it wide open and crashed into his chest. Harry winced as he watched Lockhart cartwheel through the air, only to bounce off of the shield around the platform and land in a heap upon the wood.

There was a collective groan from the students, and Harry watched a few coins be passed between students out of the corner of his eye. It seemed most of the school population had been hoping to see Snape on his arse rather than Lockhart.

The Slytherin’s cheered for their Head of House, and the shield around the platform dissipated with a subtle shimmer.

“Do you think he’s alright?” Hermione asked, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“Who cares? The castle will be talking about this for _months_.” Neville snickered, causing Harry to grin.

He watched as Lockhart pushed himself to his feet slowly, groaning from the effort a little. “Good show Professor.” He wheezed after a moment, briefly placing his hands on his knees, and coughing wetly. “Though,” Lockhart began. “if I’d have wanted to block that last one, it would have only been too easy.”

“Perhaps, it would be prudent to teach the students how to effectively defend themselves from unfriendly spells first?” Snape drawled, his trademark sneer on his sallow face.

Harry’s eyes darted between the two men, watching as they stared at one another for a moment, before Lockhart blinked. “An excellent suggestion, Professor – if everyone could split into groups, your instructors will be with you shortly.”

The students all broke apart at that, the rumbling of excited voices and hurried steps echoed around the room. Hermione dragged Neville and him by their wrists over to students from their year – there were already a number of Gryffindors present – Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Lauren Calvert, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil.

Others joined them slowly, and he recognised most faces from their classes – all having introduced themselves at some point or another. He could see their wary expressions on their faces, and how there were a few nervous glances in his direction from members of all the houses.

A loud clap rang out behind him, and Harry turned on his heel and had to fight the urge to run to Sirius, who was grinning wickedly at the group.

“So, I understand I’ve got you lot.” Sirius smiled, placing his hands behind his back as he looked them all over – Harry made sure to stand a little taller and square his shoulders proudly. “Well then, let’s get to the platform, shall we? Longbottom, and – you, what’s your name?”

Harry glanced to the student that Sirius was looking at – a Slytherin girl with straight, ash-blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders, and large, hazel eyes. She looked startled for a moment, before replying, “Eirene – Eirene Taylor, Heir Black – of Slytherin.” She stammered, her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of her jumper – the Muggle-born uniform looked rather large on her slim frame.

“Please – this will all be a lot easier if you all just call me Sirius – seriously.” Sirius grinned, briefly looking at Harry and Neville when they groaned loudly. “Less groaning, more moving, Longbottom. Go on, on the platform.”

Neville shuffled off with a shrug, and Harry moved with the other students to the side of the platform. He knew Neville could fight – Neville had gone so far as to show him a few spells he’d learned over the Summer from his Family Library and Augusta. Harry knew better than most, however, that there was a difference between fighting and duelling – still, his money was on Neville.

“Who do you think is going to win?” He whispered to Hermione – he smiled a little to himself at how she had remained glued to his side.

“I’m not sure – Neville is powerful, and he’s likely had more practice than most over the Summer, but Eirene is one of the best in the year at _Charms_.” Hermione sighed, glancing at him. “It’s hard to say.”

“Right, you lot – there’s nothing overly complicated about diverting a spell or raising a rudimentary shield to protect yourself.” Sirius called out, stepping onto the platform between Neville and Eirene, the latter of which was standing on the far side, where the Slytherins in their group had congregated.

Sirius had his wand in his hand as he looked around at all of the students. “Most defensive spells are beyond your current capabilities, but there is a spell that can be used to protect yourself long enough to get help. Keep your eyes on my wand and repeat after me – _Custodi_.”

Harry repeated the pronunciation of the spell with the rest of the group, and watched the way Sirius moved his wand – it was subtle, quick, and within a heartbeat, there was a shimmering wall of silvery energy sprang to life a few inches from the tip of the wand.

“Now, the spell will only last for as long as you feed it magic – so use it sparingly. Most spells will smash through it, so find some cover, and then find someone that can help you. As with most magic, the best way to learn is through experience – so you’ll be taking turns to duel. Longbottom, Taylor, salute one another.”

Harry watched as Neville snapped his wand up and bowed a little, with Eirene following shortly after. He saw Neville’s mouth move, but not what he said – though the confident smirk on his face as he turned around and paced toward his end of the platform.

Both took up their opening stances – Neville’s was a slightly wider profile than what Harry would have gone with, while Eirene was completely side-on.

“On my mark, you may begin. You are to _disarm_ only.” Sirius called, flicking his wand at the platform as he stepped off of it; the silvery shield snapping into place. “Begin!”

There was a bright flash of light, and suddenly Neville was flying through the air, spinning in a whirlwind of limbs before slamming into the platform and bouncing once. There was a stunned silence before the barking laughter of Sirius shattered it. Harry glanced at Sirius, who was doubled over, his hands on his knees as his laughter wheezed from him.

Neville, in comparison, hadn’t moved. He’d landed near Harry, so his own wheezed groans were enough to settle his concern – no doubt Neville had brought it on himself with whatever it was he’d said to Eirene. On the far end of the platform, the Slytherin’s cheered the victor as the shield dropped.

“Come on Neville – up you get.” Sirius chuckled, hauling the boy to his feet. Neville groaned and accepted the help, swaying a little on the spot, a dazed look on his face.

“How can someone so little hit so bloody hard?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, and for the first time in a long time, it felt _real_. It felt carefree and easy. Most importantly, it felt _good_. Hermione glanced at him and grinned, her nose crinkling a little as she did so.

“Okay!” Sirius called, the amusement on his face still quite clear as Neville moved to the side and sat down against the wall. Eirene it seemed, had been welcomed as a conquering hero among her classmates. “For laughing – you’re up next, Harry.”

Harry groaned as Hermione let go of his wrist, though not before giving him a small smile and one final squeeze. Harry shuffled through the crowd and took the steps up the platform two-at-a-time before flicking his wand into his hand.

He glanced down at it – the eleven inches of Blackthorn was such a contrast against the Vinewood handle, that looked almost like bone against the dark wood. He could feel Clara’s tailfeather thrumming in his palm excitedly, eager to cast magic for him.

“You – what’s your name, lad?”

“Finnegan – Seamus Finnegan – sir – Lord- Sirius, I mean.” Seamus stammered, staring up wide-eyed and glancing nervously between himself and Sirius.

“Come on, up you get.” Sirius nodded, gesturing to the platform. Seamus scrambled through the crowd and nearly tripped over himself on his way up the stairs as he shrugged his Gryffindor cloak off – he’d been one of the few Harry had seen that had kept their cloaks on.

Harry nodded at his Dorm-mate, a polite smile on his face – he was pleased to see Seamus nod back, though the wariness hadn’t left his eyes. The two met in the middle of the platform, and raised their wands, bowing slightly at the waist.

Harry spun on his heel and paced five steps away before settling into the stance that Felix had shown him over the Summer. He kept his profile as small as possible and crouched slightly – his muscles tensed as he allowed his magic to seep into his limbs. His eyesight became sharper, and he faded the rest of the world out as he focused on Seamus opposite him.

Seamus had a penchant for fire, no matter the spell he used – there was a very real possibility of getting burned during the duel, and so, he made sure to concentrate – it could very well save him a stay under Madame Pomfrey’s care.

“Begin!” Sirius called.

“ _Ignis Pila_!” Seamus shouted, flicking his wand at him. Harry grimaced as a ball of fire the size of his head shot in his direction.

“ _Custodi_!” Harry grunted, fuelling the spell with his magic – it had been a while since he had last had to defend against any kind of spell, and for a moment, he thought his spell was about to fail as the fireball impacted against it.

It was a strange sensation – he could feel the heat of the flame, but there was almost no physical force behind it.

“ _Immobulous_!” He called, the sapphire bolt shooting across the platform with a thunderous crack. Harry watched as it sped toward Seamus – the other boy looking panicked before muttering his own attempt at the shield spell, only for the spell to punch through it and strike Seamus in the chest.

Seamus froze instantly, with only his eyes able to move. The shield around the platform dropped quickly afterwards, and Sirius hopped on the stage and uttered a quick _Finite_ at Seamus before congratulating them both on their performance.

Harry was just about to turn to leave the platform when the drawling voice of Snape drew his attention, stopping him halfway to the steps.

“Black – one of my students wishes to challenge Potter. An _Honour_ _Duel_ in recompense for the events of the last weekend.” Snape called; his arms folded across his chest – how the man could cope with such a ridiculously tight, long-sleeved tunic was beyond his comprehension.

“What did you just say?” Sirius growled, his head snapping in the direction of Snape – it was then that Harry caught the smug visage of Draco at his side, looking no worse for wear, as his grey eyes glared at him.

“An _Honour Duel_ , Black – I would expect a man of your position to be well-versed in the practice and customs.”

“I’m aware of what they are, _Snape_ – though I question if it’s at all needed in this situation.” Sirius grunted as the students broke out into whispers amongst themselves. Once again, Harry found himself the centre of unwanted attention for the events of the last week and he cursed Snape under his breath. “From my understanding, your student insulted the late Lord and Lady Potter – he’d have suffered far worse if he’d said such things in front of me.”

“Nevertheless, the challenge has been issued, and Potter is required to give an answer.”

“He won’t-“ Sirius began, his wand twitching slightly in his right hand.

“I’ll do it.” Harry called, cutting Sirius off. His godfather spun on his heel and gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Harry, this isn’t some school-yard fight if you take part in this – Houses will remember this until the day you die. Malfoy is beneath you – nobody would think less of you for declining.”

“I know what it means, Sirius.” Harry muttered in response, glancing at Malfoy briefly. “It’s my own fault, really – I lost my temper. If I lose, I lose – but if I win, it might just help with all the whispers I’ve had to deal with all week.”

“Harry-“

“I’m doing it, Sirius.” Harry replied, looking Sirius in the eye. His dark eyes were full of worry, and for a moment, Harry considered backing out, if only to spare Sirius. “What are your terms?” Harry called, looking directly at Malfoy.

“To first blood, Potter. No other terms.” Draco smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

“You can’t be-“ Sirius exclaimed, his voice echoing across the room as all eyes turned to their platform.

“I accept.” Harry nodded, moving to the centre of the platform. _Honour Duels_ were tricky things, depending on the terms set. Some could be lethal and to the death – others, were simply to a disarm, or to first blood. It was an old tradition, and not without consequences should he win or lose.

If Harry won, he would be expected to be humble in victory, as was expected of a scion of an Ancient and Most Noble House – but if he _lost_ , it would tell the world that House Malfoy was _better_ than House Potter. He couldn’t allow that, _would not_ allow that.

Malfoy hurried up the steps and shrugged his coat off – leaving it in a pile without a care in the world. The two of them stood nose-to-nose as Draco sneered at him, both of their wands raised to the ceiling.

“Scared, Potter?”

Harry simply bowed politely and spun on his heel and took up the same position he had been in when duelling Seamus. Harry felt his magic thrum with excitement, and he fed it greedily into his limbs.

Draco was a competent student, usually picking up spells and theory with the first quarter of their classes, and Harry thought him powerful enough in his own right. There was nothing that he would leave to chance.

“On my call, you are to duel until first blood.” Sirius called – his voice strained to Harry’s ears. The shield sprung into its shimmering existence. “Begin!”

“ _Everte Statum_!” Draco called instantly, the mass of roiling silver magic screaming toward him.

Harry braced himself and snapped a quick _Oblecto_ into life – a shield spell he’d learned from Felix that required no incantation – batting the spell into the shield that surrounded the platform. Distantly, he heard the startled noises of the students watching, but he ignored them.

“ _Diffindo_!” Draco called, and Harry was forced to leap over the harsh lance of energy that had shot toward his throat. He’d channelled his magic through his limbs and had leapt over it quite easily, tucking his body into a roll at the top of his arc, and landing gracefully.

Harry snapped his wand up and levelled it at Draco, who appeared stunned at the feat Harry had just performed. A dozen violet sparks of energy burst from his wand and spread themselves in a large cone as they floated higher and higher. Draco tracked the energy warily, his wand raised and slowly waving back and forth, waiting for the first target.

They all shot toward Draco as one, however, tracking him silently as the boy began to back up in panic. Harry had to give the Malfoy heir credit, as he did at least manage to conjure a brief shield that absorbed all but four of the bolts – the ones that made it past the shield, striking Draco in the mouth and nose. The crack of Draco’s nose shattering was followed by his pained cry.

“ _Serpensortia_!” Draco called as he fell backwards, his wand flailing wildly. A Cobra flew through the air at Harry, hissing angrily as it landed in a coil on the floor, hissing at everything and nothing all at once.

Harry briefly noted the shields falling as Draco’s bloody mouth and nose was revealed – the terms of the duel met, with Harry the victor. With the shields suddenly falling, many of the students scrambled away from the edge as the Cobra focused on them.

“ _Hungry – must feed_!” The snake hissed, moving toward one of the Hufflepuff students – Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Stop!” Harry called, reaching out a hand. “Leave him! It’s me that you were cast at.”

“ _Speaker_?” The snake demanded, halting immediately and quickly moving along the platform, only to halt a mere metre from him. Harry grimaced as the tongue of the snake darted out from between its fangs, its dark, beady eyes focused unnaturally on him. “ _This one speaks The Tongue_.”

“I didn’t think you would understand me.”

“ _All serpents hear the Speakers_. _All speak The Tongue_.”

“Will you attack me?” Harry asked, before motioning to those around him. “Or my friends? I would prefer that you didn’t.”

“ _Speaker has many friends_.” The snake hissed, inching closer. “ _This one will not harm a Speaker, nor their friends – Speaker is ally. Speaker is friend._ ”

“I’m thankful, truly.” Harry smiled, kneeling before the snake slowly and reaching out his hand. He had meant to simply run the back of his fingers down the gorgeous scales of the Cobra, however, quick as anything, the Cobra darted forward and coiled itself around his arm and around his shoulders – its head hovering close to his ear.

“ _Speaker is warm. This one is thankful to have met a Speaker._ ” The snake hissed quietly, its voice almost purring as Harry reached out with his free hand and scratched it under the chin with a finger. “ _This one feels cold._ ”

Harry was about to respond when it suddenly burned to ashes, startling him. Harry spun and caught Sirius pointing his and at him, his expression unreadable. He looked around, blinking at just how many faces were surrounding him – it appeared the whole school had watched the duel, each whispering amongst themselves.

He glanced over at Justin, the boy he had stopped the snake from feeding on. Harry blinked at the unnatural colours of the Hufflepuff’s skin – there were deep reds, and even a hint of purple as he angrily glared up at him. “What do you think you’re playing at? Think it was funny goading that thing into attacking me?”

“What? That’s not-“ Harry began, looking around wildly.

“Alright – that’s enough for today! Everyone, back to your Common Rooms until your meal!” McGonagall called, already ushering the students from the room.

Harry looked pleadingly at Sirius, who simply nodded once and gestured to the far side of the room where they would at least have some measure of privacy. As he turned to move toward it, Harry caught sight of a Ravenclaw staring at him with a strange expression – Lilith Kullens, if he remembered correctly.

He knew little of her, outside of her name – the Kullens were an old Ancient and Most Noble House – and that she was constantly competing with Hermione for the top spot in _Magical Languages_.

He shook himself slightly and broke eye-contact – her dark eyes had a strange, hypnotic quality to them that was unsettling and reminded him briefly of his encounter with the mirror last year. He shuddered as he trudged over to the far side of the room, Neville and Hermione quickly appearing at his side.

“Harry!” Hermione cried, wrapping her arms around him quickly before pulling back to look him over. “Oh Harry, you worried me to death!”

“Draco couldn’t have hurt me with Sirius there.” Harry replied. “I learned a few things over the Summer too.”

“I saw!” Hermione said, a worried look on her face. “When were you going to tell us that you’re a Parselmouth?”

“I don’t know – I only found out in _Magical Menagerie_ just before we came back to school. With everything going on, I didn’t really think about it that much.” Harry sighed, collapsing on a bench along the wall. “I agreed to the duel to make the looks and whispers stop – now it’s going to get worse.”

“Anyone with a brain will see that you stopped the snake from attacking Justin.” Neville scoffed, sitting down next to him and patting him on the back. “I wasn’t expecting the snake to hop on you, though.”

“It called me Speaker – I think that’s what they refer to Parselmouths as. That’s what they called me in the store too.” He murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly – he glanced to his left as the bench shifted, and saw Hermione looking at her hands in her lap. “What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked quietly, her eyes fixated on her fingers that were worrying the hem of her skirt.

“I told him not to tell anyone.” Sirius said as he arrived, Remus at his side. Harry glanced up at the two of them and raised his eyebrows a little – he hadn’t been told anything even close to that. Sirius nodded at him once and placed his hands on his hips.

Harry glanced at Hermione and saw her perk up slightly, a small smile appearing on her face. “Oh – that makes sense, I suppose.”

“Harry – I have to ask – what was the snake saying? It looked like you were goading it at the start.” Sirius began, holding a hand up when Harry went to open his mouth. “I know you wouldn’t do that, but that’s what it sounded like at the start.”

“I told it not to harm Justin, and to leave everyone alone – then, it said it was thankful to have met a Speaker. It said it was cold right before you got rid of it.”

“Okay – we’ll let the staff know. _Merlin_ , we probably should have told them before the year started that you were a Parselmouth.” Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t even get me started on that duel.” He muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear it.

“If I hadn’t agreed to it, he’d have kept coming in one way or another! Arcturus always said that it’s better to have an enemy that you can see – not that Malfoy is an enemy, mind you.”

“Professor Snape mentioned it was an _Honour Duel_? What’s that?” Hermione asked, frowning as she looked between everyone.

Remus stepped forward slowly, his hands behind his back as he smiled lopsidedly. “It’s a duel in which the honour of one or more Houses is on the line. Harry comes from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter – Draco is the heir to the Noble House of Malfoy. There is a hierarchy in our world, Hermione, and if Draco had won that fight, it would be known to all that House Malfoy _bested_ House Potter.”

“Like that was ever going to happen.” Neville snorted.

“What would it mean – if Draco had won?” Hermione asked, and Harry noticed her fingers fiddling with her skirt once again.

“Simply put, House Potter would lose much of its power and respect – many in the Wizengamot would listen to House Malfoy over House Potter. Business opportunities would pass House Potter by, and if it continued over many generations, there is a possibility that House Potter would collapse into ruin.” Remus sighed, giving Harry a pointed look that he squirmed under.

“Like Neville said – Draco was never going to win that fight, not after Felix-“

“Harry, that’s _enough_.” Sirius cut in loudly, the tone of his voice making quite clear that it was his first and only warning. Harry groaned and leaned against the wall and wiped his hands down his face.

“Who’s Felix? Is that who taught you those spells? Did he teach you Parseltongue too?” Hermione asked, whipping her head to look at him.

“That’s not how Parseltongue works, Hermione – you’re born with it, and it’s rare at that – it doesn’t even pass down through bloodlines.” Neville answered, leaning around him as he placed his elbows on his knees. “It’s completely random, as far as we know – there’s never been a Potter that’s been a Parselmouth.”

“Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth, wasn’t he – that’s why Slytherin is a silver snake, even though it’s the sigil of House Black, right?” Hermione asked, her eyes darting to Sirius and Remus – both nodded. “Are there any others?”

“A few Blacks, over the years.” Sirius shrugged.

“Longbottoms too.” Neville added.

“Hundreds over the last two-thousand years, which isn’t many when you compare it to our population.” Remus nodded. “The last one – the most notable one, at least – died in eighty-one, on Halloween, in Godric’s Hollow.”

“ _You-kn-… Voldemort_?” Hermione breathed, trembling a little at the name. Harry reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Aye – he was the last well-known one.” Sirius nodded. “Parseltongue is simply another language – the only benefit it can give you, really, is the ability to cast spells in a language your opponent can’t understand.”

“It seems rather fascinating.” Hermione murmured, glancing at him briefly. “What does it mean for Harry, now that the school knows?”

“Nothing much, I would think – we’ll get the whole thing with the lad cleared up. After all, it was Malfoy that cast the spell, but you can never tell with kids.” Sirius said – though Harry thought the smile he offered was rather weak at best. “In any case, the three of you had best get back to your Common Room – Minerva will tan my hide if I keep you any longer."

Harry nodded and got to his feet, and wrapped Sirius in a strong hug, quickly giving one to Remus also. He smiled at the two of them weakly, though he was sure it looked more like a grimace than anything, before offering his goodbyes and moving toward the door, where the little House Elf appeared with his cloak.

* * *

In the days following the first session of the duelling club, the whispers had done anything but calm down. Everywhere he went, the looks and the muttered conversations continued – to the point where even Ronald Weasley, one of his Dorm-mates, actively hid in his room when he was in the tower.

The weekend had gone about as well as he had expected, despite the recent snow – Neville and Hermione had kept him occupied at the least. Neville had organised a game of catch between the two of them with a Quaffle he kept in his room – Hermione had opted out, choosing instead to perch herself on a nearby rock and read, while the two of them tossed a ball between them and talked about everything and anything.

That wasn’t to say that Hermione hadn’t chimed in on parts of the conversation – indeed, she had offered opinions on a few things that he had never quite considered, such as the idea of the definition of a curse. Harry had grown up with the belief that a curse was an innately offensive spell, while Hermione had argued that in theory, any spell cast with the intent to cause harm could be classed as a curse.

The three had discussed it between themselves for well over an hour – Hermione, still with her nose buried in her book, while Neville and Harry tossed the Quaffle back and forth – with arguments for and against both definitions. It had been a refreshing experience, and he felt all the better for it.

How long had it been since he had a conversation that had stimulated him intellectually outside of his studies and his classes? Before arriving at Hogwarts, he could often be found spending his days in the Black Library at Blackwall, and occasionally in the Rosestone Library – which was just as large.

Over the years, he had read a number of tomes and volumes that offered insightful views on magic, which he would then speak on with Arcturus, Sirius, and Remus – some were rather dark and morbid takes on magic, from both libraries, something which had initially shocked him – and he would find himself getting a better understanding of it all.

Upon their arrival to Hogwarts, Harry had attempted to discuss some topics from their classes with those around him – be they in class, where discussion was encouraged, or in the Gryffindor Common Room. It hadn’t taken him long to discover that not as many people were as studious or as interested in the deep conversations he was used to – only Neville, Daphne, Tracey, and later Hermione had seemed as excited in what they were learning.

Neville and he had talked about different things as well, of course – from the latest rumour about who had been caught with who in which broom closet, to the latest machinations of whichever heir was making within the various houses of Hogwarts.

There were a couple of things that baffled Harry, and by extension Neville. The concept of sneaking into a broom closet for a _snog_ , as Hermione had called it when she had corrected them, was more than a little confusing. It sounded painfully uncomfortable, with the tight space and the cleaning supplies no doubt digging into the back of the mischievous couple – why not simply use the boy’s dorms?

Every student had their own private room that branched off from a smaller common room, and the doors could be locked – not to mention that the girls could actually enter their rooms. Hermione had woken him and Neville up on more than one occasion – she’d actually scared him half to death the first time he’d woken up to her shaking him – he’d been half nude, for _Merlin_ ’s sake!

And so, inevitably, Harry and Neville had devolved into a debate on the subject – Neville thought it rather pointless, while Harry had played the Sorcerer’s Advocate.

He had simply pointed out that there was a privacy that potentially couldn’t be achieved in the boy’s dorms – which Neville had scoffed at.

While Harry considered that, ordinarily, they were probably a little young to be discussing such things – especially if Hermione’s crimson face was anything to go by – the two of them had been raised around _Sirius Black_.

Harry had argued that the dorms weren’t a completely private area. If his nightmares could be heard through the wall he shared with Neville, something that the other boy had only mentioned once and only to him – thankfully, Hermione still didn’t know – then there was no doubt that other, far more amorous sounds would be able to filter through.

Neville had replied with a silencing spell – it was a tough spell, one which Harry had witnessed performed by Sirius and Arcturus over the years, and was taught at fifth year, according to what he’d gathered from the OWL students. Harry had countered with the possibility of not being a fifth year, or perhaps not having mastered the spell.

Hermione had cut them off, calling them both uncouth for discussing people’s relations so publicly – Neville had really put his foot in it when he’d asked Hermione which she would prefer. The barrage of snowballs that she had assaulted him with had been hilarious to witness.

The witch had pelted Neville into submission, and by the time she was through with him, his once dark cloak was now white – partly from the snowballs themselves, and partly because Neville had tripped over a small stone hidden among the snow and landed on his arse, where Hermione had continued to hit him.

After that, Hermione had turned to him – a fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before – and he had simply held his hands up in surrender. The three of them had laughed about it all later on, though Hermione had reminded Neville that it was simply something one didn’t ask a girl – it simply _wasn’t done_.

The weekend had transitioned into the week, and classes had resumed. _Magical Theory_ with Professor Reyne had transitioned into exploring the workings of defensive spells and various gifts. Unsurprisingly, Parseltongue had come up, and Harry had found himself the centre of attention once again.

He had fought the urge to sink into his seat, or to hide under his desk, and no doubt if it hadn’t been for the stalwart presence of both Hermione and Neville, he would have done exactly that. Through a series of simple, easy to answer questions, Professor Reyne walked him, and the rest of the class, through one of the more well documented gifts in the Wizarding World.

He had answered what he could, even going so far as to repeat some of the conversation with the conjured snake – he ignored the heated glare from Justin from across the room. He hadn’t had any interaction with the Hufflepuff, though he knew he was on friendly terms with Susan and was a Muggle-born, but outside of that, he knew very little else.

Indeed, Hufflepuff, at least the ones in his year, had gone out of their way to seemingly shield Justin from Harry since the fiasco with _Draco_ ’s spell. It was all rather pointless and petty – at least Susan didn’t seem to be one of them.

After lunch on Monday, he had been pulled to the side by Professor Dots – the man had been fascinated by his reveal of being a Parselmouth, but had lamented at the lack of being able to teach him anything on the subject – Harry found himself repeating the same information he’d shared with Professor Reyne only an hour before. Professor Dots had, in turn, shared with him that instruction in Parseltongue’s benefits and control were steeped in secretive oral tradition, passed down, directly, from one Parselmouth to another.

Following the discovery of his gift at the end of the summer holiday, Arcturus had taken Harry to one side and discussed the possibility of hiring a tutor. He relayed that information to the Professor but had to admit that he didn’t know the progress behind the search.

The professor had simply nodded and mentioned that he would be delighted to learn anything Harry would be willing to pass on to him – if only to learn about such a remarkable language. Harry liked the professor – he was warm, friendly, and engaging in all of their classes, and so, had agreed to tell him what he could, when he could. It was a refreshing change of pace from everyone looking at him strangely.

 _Potions_ had been exactly as he had expected it to be – uncomfortable, and full of subtle, snide comments. Snape was a clever man, there was no doubting that, and had a way of saying things that could be taken in any number of ways, while still obviously being an insult – though if you called him on it, it was still ambiguous enough to give him an out. In another life, Snape would have been a _terrifying_ politician in the Wizengamot – it was a shame that he was simply content to be an utter bastard to students.

Monday had transitioned into Tuesday after his scheduled detention, and so it was that Harry found himself sat across from Hermione and Neville in a Transfiguration after-class study group, supervised by Professor McGonagall herself.

The woman, who appeared to have Harry in a very special place in her heart – he had even caught her smiling at him once – sat at her desk, alternating between marking essays and watching the room like a hawk.

Harry stared at the parchment in front of him – he had written a little over twenty inches on the various intricacies and practical applications of the _Transfiguration Alphabet_ , and how it affected the _Transformation Formula_ in regards to softening a surface with the _Spongify_ spell they were currently studying in class. It was an assignment that had been handed out a week ago, and still had another week before it was due, but Harry wanted to get the final version of it done sooner, rather than later.

Across from him, Hermione and Neville worked on their own essays, though Hermione’s was considerably longer by comparison – neater too. Harry glanced at his chicken-scratch and grimaced.

He leaned back and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension that had built there over the hour he’d spent hunched over the parchment. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over his shoulder – everyone was supposed to be working in silence, but the occasional quiet whisper could be heard.

He caught sight of a small group of girls staring at him eerily – all members of Ravenclaw from the blue on their uniforms. They ducked their heads as he looked at them. He turned back to the table and caught Neville and Hermione’s eye as he sighed.

Hermione pursed her lips and smiled sadly, while Neville just shrugged his shoulders. Harry grimaced as his magic flared a little as Ginny Weasley walked through the door – the usual small black book that was always within arms reach of her clutched to her chest tightly. He shrugged it off – he was already exhausted from the nightmares and the stress of having the school think him some sort of freak. There was no need to worry himself over strange little girls.

There was more whispering coming from the Hufflepuff table in the far corner of the room, and Harry turned to look at them – all were looking in his direction. Most notable among them all were Hannah Abbott – a tall, blonde girl that was the daughter of Lord Thomas Abbott – and Ernie Macmillan.

He’d had enough of it and stood up from the bench. “I’ve had enough – I’ll see you in the Common Room.” He muttered as Hermione and Neville blinked up at him owlishly. He picked his satchel up and neatly rolled the parchment up and slid it inside, only to startle when Hermione and Neville moved to join him.

Blinking, he asked. “What are you two doing?”

“Coming with you, obviously.” Hermione smiled, quickly throwing her books into her bag.

“Keep up, Potter.” Neville winked, stepping over the bench and throwing his satchel over his shoulder.

Harry turned to glance and McGonagall, who gave him a nod and a small, but warm smile. He stepped over the bench, and with Hermione and Neville at his side, the three of them left the room together.

They moved through the corridors quickly – it wouldn’t be long until curfew, and the meal he’d enjoyed in the Hall earlier had settled into his stomach and he had to stop himself from openly yawning a number of times in the short walk.

As they were passing one of the T-junctions of the castle, something on the floor caught his eye. Usually, the castle was spotless – thanks in part to the many enchantments and the diligent work of the House Elves. It was dark, shiny, and about the size of his hand, from fingertip to wrist.

He stopped and picked it up – it was rougher than he’d expected but had no idea what it could possibly be. He thought he saw something drip from it, and when he glanced down to check, there was a small speck of blood on the flagstone between his boots.

Neville and Hermione, who had both stopped just a step or two after him, looked at him curiously – Neville was frowning, while Hermione had her head tilted to the side a fraction as she eyed the object in his hand. “What’s that?” She asked.

“I don’t know – I just found it here. It looks like there’s blood on it though.” He replied, pointing to the next little drop that had formed.

“Bit odd don’t you-“ Neville began, stepping up next to him, only for his eyes to widen as he looked down the corridor. “ _Merlin_!” Neville gasped, rushing past him as he dropped his bag.

Harry turned to look at what had caught Neville’s attention, only for his own eyes to widen as he tore off after him. He skidded to a stop and dropped to a knee at the side of the student that stared unblinkingly up at the vaulted ceiling of the corridor.

The soft patter of shoes behind him had him on his feet in an instant. Without hesitating, he swept Hermione into his arms and held her head into his shoulder as he turned her away from the boy. There was no need for Hermione to see what he’d first witnessed all those years ago on that road surrounded by trees.

He wouldn’t let Hermione look at Justin Finch-Fletchley – Harry had recognised his face in an instant, even as Neville swore to himself and ran his hands through his hair. The look of terror on the prone Hufflepuff’s pale face – his eyes wide and mouth open.

Harry Potter knew a corpse when he saw one.


	28. Harry XIX

Harry lay in the Hospital bed and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the intricate carvings in the high, vaulted stonework, counting each curl and flourish. Huffing impatiently, he pushed himself deeper into the plush pillows behind his head – he wasn’t pouting, and he’d hex anyone that claimed otherwise.

Honestly – he didn’t know what all the bloody fuss was about! The Gryffindor and Slytherin game had been going just fine, despite the Bludger that had been on his tail the entire time – someone had obviously tampered with it, and he suspected one of the hundreds of students in the castle had had a hand in _that_.

He had caught the Snitch easily enough – well, as easy as it ever was. It had led him and Draco – the new Slytherin Seeker, Higgs had been replaced after Lord Malfoy had _donated_ a team’s worth of the latest _Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One_ ’s. Being the newer model, Draco’s broom had given him the edge in raw speed, but Harry had the benefit of being the superior and more experienced flyer – that wasn’t to say that he hadn’t made mistakes of his own.

He’d reviewed the game several times since being remanded into Madame Pomfrey’s care – reliving every bank, dive, and intercept he’d made throughout the course of the match. He had helped the Chasers as much as he could, and even allowed Malfoy to bait him into chasing the Snitch through the wooden support beam-structure beneath the stands, chasing the winged ball the entire circumference of the pitch.

The rogue Bludger had annihilated the wooden beams in its relentless pursuit of the two of them and had all but ignored everything that Fred and George had done to dissuade it from tailing him. The heavy iron ball had left each and every beam and support that the two Seekers had dodged around in splinters as if they were nothing.

At some point, Draco had been thrown from his broom, and Harry had managed to clasp the little golden ball in his hand. Harry hadn’t realised how much the match had taken out of him until he’d been holding the Snitch over his head in victory – the fluttering wings curling around and laying themselves back into the ball’s surface as the enchantment called them to rest. His joy at having caught the damn thing for his team had made him forget about the Bludger.

He had been reminded – quite intimately – what it felt like to take one to the ribs.

He’d been launched, head over heels, from his broom – thankfully, he’d had the presence of mind to right himself in the air and force magic into his legs – if he hadn’t, it was likely he would be covered in a sheet rather than nursing shattered ribs. Even with his magic bolstering his legs and feet, he’d still ended up sprawled in the grass, the wind knocked entirely out of his lungs. The Bludger had followed him down, hitting him once more and ensuring that both sides of his ribcage were quite broken. Thankfully, Sirius had rushed to the pitch with the other professors, his wand drawn and tracking the damn thing – it had exploded in a beautiful fireball as his godfather’s curse struck it square. Harry had laid there, in the grass, gasping for breath, letting the bits of shrapnel bounce and land all around him.

The sight of how Sirius had paled as he spat out a mouthful of blood would remain with him for the rest of his life. Sirius had rushed to his side after that, only moving for Madame Pomfrey to make sure he would live and to move him to the bed he currently lay in.

Harry groaned as he shifted his weight – it was impossible to get comfortable with both sides of his torso on _fire_. Sadly, Sirius had long since had to leave – he had duties he had to perform, even on the weekend. Remus, who had been attending the match as well, had had to bodily separate Sirius from his bedside to get his godfather to leave – the memory of Sirius struggling futilely against Remus’s larger frame with flailing limbs was enough to bring a small, private grin to his chapped lips.

They had, at least, enjoyed a few hours of quality time together before he’d had to leave. They had talked about everything – from his domination of the duelling club, to the very recent loss of Justin.

The school was still reeling from that event.

The days following the discovery of the Hufflepuff’s body had been subdued, and a heavy weight had settled over the castle. Everywhere anyone went, there was someone that had at least some memory of the boy, even if It was only passing. Harry hadn’t known him well, but they’d passed one another in the Library in First Year often enough for him to say that Justin was, at least, friendly.

Despite how the last few days of Justin’s life had been in regards to Harry, he had nothing ill to say of the deceased boy. From everything that he and his friends had heard from the grieving students, Justin had been determined to carve out a life for himself in the new world that he had been thrust into on his eleventh birthday. In the eighteen days since, Harry had often caught himself wondering about what might have been – what would Justin have gone on to do? Would he have become a famous Auror? An exemplary scholar? Maybe he’d have gone into politics to change the Ministry of Magic for the better?

Sadly, it didn’t matter anymore. Justin was dead.

Word had spread that Harry had been the one to find the body – how anyone had found _that_ out was mystery. It didn’t matter that Harry hadn’t been alone when the body was found, nor did it matter _how_ the information had gotten out; the result was the same.

Harry had been found with a body.

The last time Harry had been found with a body nearby, it had been the Troll incident, and _everybody_ knew how that had gone. Death was Harry’s constant companion. First, it had been Clara Appleton, then it was the Troll, then Quirrell, and now Justin.

It wasn’t hard to find the common denominator.

What had once been whispers and stares had turned into outright hostility – especially from Hufflepuff house, not that Harry blamed them. Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place in Britain, and it had become anything and everything but that. A second year had died, and Harry had been found standing over the corpse – his guilt was evident enough to the student body.

Hermione and Neville had, stalwartly, stood by his side throughout all of it, and had been shunned by the school along with him for their efforts. At first, it had been small things here and there – books they needed for assignments were checked out or ‘lost’ before the three of them could get them, snide comments here and there. It escalated quickly – he’d caught at least one fourth year sabotaging Hermione’s bag while they had been walking between classes a few days ago. There was no telling how many other times it had happened.

The professors couldn’t do anything about it either – there were almost a thousand students and fewer than two dozen members of the staff. Thankfully, the threat of detentions and point deductions had been enough to deter the other students – for now, at least.

There was no way to prove it, but he was _convinced_ that it had been a particularly vindictive student that had set the Bludger on him during the game.

He turned his head toward the door at the sound of it opening, only to groan and glare at the far wall when he saw who it was. It was bad enough he was trapped in the damn bed – the last thing he needed right now was _her_.

The click-clacking of the heels on her boots echoed in the silence of the room – Madame Pomfrey had long since left to see to something or another – and he found himself grimacing more and more the closer they got.

“I thought I’d find you here.” She sniffed. “You Gryffindors can’t go one match without landing yourself in a hospital bed.”

He remained silent – his jaw clenching and unclenching with each breath. He had given her space and time, and that was all well and good for the first week – and even after Justin, he had stopped himself from rushing to her, begging her to forgive him and to make her see that it _wasn’t_ him. He had beaten Draco bloody, _yes_ , but he hadn’t attacked random students.

“You seem to have carved a nice corner for yourself this time – much better than your stints last year. What do you think Sirius bribed Madame Pomfrey with?”

“What do you want, Daphne?” He snapped, turning his gaze on her. To her credit, she neither flinched, nor glanced away – apparently some things _did_ change.

“I came to see you – you’re my friend, loathe as I am to admit it sometimes.” She replied evenly, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. It was down for once and fell in soft ringlets over her shoulders and down her back – it looked _nice_.

“That’s news to me.”

“That I came to see you? Why wouldn’t I-“

“That I’m your _friend_.” Harry sniped, cutting her off as he looked at the far wall once again. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Daphne’s shoulders deflate just the smallest amount – though, it could have just as easily been his wishful thinking.

“Harry-“

“You avoided me for a month, Daphne. I think you made your feelings abundantly clear on our friendship.”

“And you’ve avoided me for the past fortnight, Harry!” She snapped back, her voice loud enough to make him blink. He turned to her, and for the first time since she had arrived – quite uninvited – he actually _looked_ at her.

She was paler than normal, and while her hair _did_ look nice, there was a wildness and frazzled look to it that just wasn’t the Daphne that he knew. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her normally bright blue eyes seemed dull – even her body posture was different. Normally, Daphne was the epitome of the refined Pureblood Heiress – excellent posture, chin lifted slightly, and her shoulders back as she looked at the world before her.

Now, her shoulders were slumped, and she was almost curled in on herself. It was like some sick mockery of the girl he knew.

“And you _recoiled_ from me!” Harry bellowed in response – he hadn’t meant to shout, but in that moment, he felt every pang of guilt that had stabbed at him each time he had caught a glimpse of her and Tracey. “ _Hermione_ came to me that same night – _Neville_ didn’t flinch away from me like I’m some kind of monster!”

“I’m not _fucking_ Neville!” Daphne snapped, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he saw tears leaking from her eyes. “How is it so hard for you to get into your thick skull, Harry? You’re one of the smartest boys I know, but you’re still _stupid_!”

“ _I’m_ stupid?” He scowled, pushing himself up in the bed only to gasp painfully and clutch at his stomach. “ _Fuck_ ,” He groaned, coughing wetly.

His stomach felt like it was on fire, and he ground his teeth against the pain of it, waiting for the euphoric moment when the wheezing breaths would cease, and he could let his body relax once again. He opened his eyes slowly and growled at Daphne as she moved to help him. “Don’t.” He wheezed.

“Shut your mouth, Potter – you could have died today. You’re lucky it slowed down before it hit you.” She snapped, shoving the arm away that he’d used in an attempt to keep her at bay. She yanked the cover down, and before he could do anything, quickly lifted the loose, thin shirt that he’d been wearing.

He was wearing a long-sleeved, crimson nightshirt, and he’d long-since rolled the sleeves to his elbows for comfort. Sirius had brought it to him after Neville and Hermione had allowed him into Gryffindor Tower – Sirius had thought the colour would remind him of Clara, who was still banned from the Wing under Pomfrey’s orders.

He grimaced at the sight of the tightly bound bandages, and the overall black and blue pallor of his stomach and chest. It had been much worse when he’d first been brought in, he knew, and for a brief moment he thanked whoever had discovered the numerous potions that he’d had to consume in the last few hours.

Harry tried to push Daphne away again, but each time he shifted his body, the pain would return – at the very least, he forced her hands away from poking and prodding at him. “How do you feel?” She asked, idly fiddling with her fingers.

“Like I’d rather be anywhere but here.” He sniffed, pulling the cover up and over him once again.

“Can I get you anything?” She asked quietly, looking to the side as she sat in the chair at the side of his bed. As he looked at her, he saw the shine to her eyes and how her lips were slightly pursed.

“I’m fine – you can go now.” Harry huffed, rolling his jaw side to side slowly. “I’m sure you’ve got lots to do.”

Daphne snorted and leaned back in the chair as she crossed her legs. “As it turns out, I made sure my evening was entirely free.”

“Lucky me.” He huffed, shifting in the bed a little and grimacing against the sharp pain. Pomfrey had dictated he was to remain in the bed for the next few days – magic was fantastic, but it could only do so much. “What are you doing here, Daphne?” He asked eventually, leaning his head back against the pillow.

“I’m here for my friend – I think you’ll find I’ve not been the best friend in recent weeks.” She replied quietly; her voice was barely above a whisper and trembled a little. It barely even sounded like the Daphne he knew.

“That would be putting it lightly.” He sighed, lifting his head to look at her. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like?”

“No.” She whispered, shaking her head mournfully. “I’ve only heard things – I don’t think anyone wanted to try anything with Tracey and me around.”

Harry wanted to laugh, despite it all. “Come on, Daphne – I thought you were the smart one of the three of us.”

“What are you on about?”

“There’s been plenty that’s happened with you right there.” Harry scoffed. “You just didn’t want to see it. What do you think it said to the school, that half of my friends turned their backs on me – you’re the one that’s always gone on about image.”

“We didn’t-“

“Yes you did!” Harry snapped; his voice louder than he’d meant it to be. “You _abandoned_ me – you abandoned Neville!”

“No, I just needed time to _think_!” Daphne cried, leaning forward. “You have to believe me, Harry – I’d never-“

“Well, you did.” He sniffed, turning from her. The entire conversation had left him restless, and his limbs thrummed with energy – he needed to get up, move around, pace, _something_. “I needed you, and you left me.” He added, quietly.

There was a pause, and Harry ran his fingers absently back and forth over the metal frame of the bed – the cool metal felt pleasant against the pads of his fingers, while the action itself calmed his racing thoughts.

Daphne sniffed, and Harry glanced at her for a moment – she was visibly more upset now, and a part of him _loathed_ the sight of it. He’d always been close to Daphne – the three of them had grown up together, after all, and despite being the youngest, he’d always felt rather protective over her. He wanted to tell her that he forgave her, but he _couldn’t_.

“Neville almost got cornered the other day, you know.” Harry muttered, closing his eyes as he leaned back into his pillow. “A group of third years from Gryffindor – McLaggen was one of them, I think – you know, the one that made a comment to you in the corridor in September?”

“I know him.”

“Well, they cornered Neville. They would have, at least, if McGonagall hadn’t turned up.” Harry shrugged, opening his eyes slowly as he blew out a breath of air. “You wouldn’t believe the number of books that I’ve had to buy, not only to work on my own assignments, but Hermione’s too. _Merlin_ only knows how much she’s spent on repairing and replacing her bookbag.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Aye, it is.” He nodded. There was a pause as the wind outside the window rattled the glass quietly. “You know why I did what I did to Draco.”

“Of course – what he called your parents was unforgivable.” Daphne replied evenly, and when Harry glanced at her, she smiled sadly. “I don’t blame you for being angry. You have more right to be than most.”

“I don’t know if I would have stopped.”

“You would have – you’re a good person.” Daphne smiled slightly before she pursed her lips. “Though, you can be as thick-headed as Neville at times.”

Harry snorted, despite himself, and there was a moment of quiet between the two. “Why did you leave?” He asked, looking to Daphne.

Daphne leaned back in the chair and played with the skirt of her dress – it was a Saturday, so the uniforms weren’t necessary. “Growing up, with you and Neville, will always be the best time of my life.” She began quietly. “How many times did we sit under the trees at Blackwall, talking about what we wanted to do?”

“Neville was up them, mostly.”

“Aye, he was.” She grinned fondly. “We met when we were six – I’d never met any other children properly at that point, and here the two of you were. Neville was this larger than life boy, who was loud and brash, and then there was _you_.”

Harry squirmed at the look she gave him.

“I’d read about you, of course – I think everyone around our age has at some point. I can remember my parents telling me I was meeting _the_ Harry Potter. I was so excited – you were this heroic boy that had done so much as just a _baby_.”

Daphne sighed and smiled sadly. “Imagine my reaction when I actually met you.”

Harry grimaced, recalling the beating she’d given him. “I can remember it pretty well – I’m sure I had the bruises for a week.”

She snorted and put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to cover it. “I was wrong about you, you know.” She said after a moment. “You weren’t this great, larger than life hero – you were just Harry. You included me in what you did, when you could have run off with Neville. You were my first friend.”

Harry watched as Daphne’s eyes lost focus as she smiled slightly and folded her hands in her lap. “You accepted me for who I am, and you’ve never asked me to change. For that, you’ll always have my thanks.” She sighed as her eyes focused on him again. “I’ve always known you have a temper – not quite to the degree you displayed to the school, but I knew it was there. It got worse after your trip when we were nine.”

“I-“ Harry began, only to be cut off by her raising her hand.

“Let me finish.” She said over him, and Harry snapped his mouth shut and nodded his head. “Like I said, it only got worse after you came back with Clara – you’re not a hard person to figure out, Harry. Whatever happened, happened, and you’ve never quite been the same since.” She paused and shrugged her shoulders sadly. “You grew up.”

“You weren’t the same boy that left, and sometimes it’s hard to compare you to who you were – but deep down, you’re still that same little boy who let me play with him.” Daphne sighed and frowned. “And yet, when you needed me the most, I didn’t know what to think.”

“I needed time – I needed to wrap my head around the fact that the boy who had been my first friend was able to beat someone bloody with his fists. We’re _twelve_ , Harry – it’s not something I could just _accept_.”

Harry went to open his mouth again, only to be cut off by Daphne again.

“But I do, and I always will. You’re _Harry_ – _my_ Harry.” Daphne smiled sadly, a pair of tears slowly trickling down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped them away before clearing her throat. “It only took me a day or so, but after everything, I thought you might hate me – I suppose it was just easier to keep saying ‘ _I’ll speak to him tomorrow_ ’.”

“After Justin died, I tried to speak to you – to apologise – but you were always rushing off and avoiding everyone. After seeing you thrown from your broom though…” Daphne trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip. “After seeing you hit by the Bludger, I _had_ to speak to you – even if you ended up hating me for it.”

“I don’t hate you.” Harry said quickly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s been… _tough_.”

“I can only imagine.” Daphne smiled sadly.

“I don’t think anyone can, really.” He shrugged sadly. “Neville knows some of it, but it’s something I have to deal with, I suppose.” He said, fiddling with the material of the cover, rolling it between his fingers absently.

“I’ll be here until you think you can tell me.” Daphne murmured, briefly pressing her lips tightly together as she reached out and took his hand. “You’re not alone, Harry – you never have been.”

“Thanks.” He whispered weakly – his throat felt tight, and his jaw clenched painfully. “And I’m sorry – for everything.”

“Me too, Harry – more than you can imagine.” She said, softly, squeezing his hand between her own. The two were quiet for a time, and Harry felt himself relax into the bed properly for the first time since he had arrived.

The sun had long since began its descent beyond the horizon, the long shadows cast by the warm light stretching up the wall – the silhouettes of the distant pine trees looking like dark claws as they stretched up the sand-coloured stone of the walls.

Through the windows, he could hear the owls hooting from their perches across the grounds – a common sound that helped to relax him – as students let their companions out to the hunt for their food.

“How’s Tracey?” He asked after a moment, glancing at Daphne through his half-closed eyes.

“She’s outside, actually – we thought it best that I see you first.” Daphne smiled slightly. “I can get her if you’d like?”

“Alright then.” Harry sighed, forcing his eyes open – if his eyes were open, he wouldn’t have to see the images that would haunt him.

Daphne nodded and quickly stood, her dress flowing around her as she moved like it was made of some sort of liquid – it sparkled in the low-light, and despite the dark colour of it, Harry thought he could detect the slightest hint of emerald within the black material.

Harry watched as Daphne hurried to the door and poked her head out, and he sighed. He couldn’t fault Tracey for her reaction nearly as much as Daphne. Tracey hadn’t known him for long in the grand scheme of things, and even he had to admit, she’d never seen even a hint of his temper before the Draco incident.

The two girls approached his bed – Daphne was murmuring something to the brunette, who was busy worrying her lip between her teeth as she fiddled with her fingers. Unlike Daphne, Tracey was dressed in a simple emerald t-shirt with white highlights – no doubt in an effort to show her House Pride in the Quidditch match earlier that day. She wore blue denim jeans and had a pair of white trainers on.

Her hair, unlike Daphne’s, was tied back in a messy ponytail, with a few dark strands framing her face – her normally pale skin appeared lighter than normal, though if that was simply a trick of the light or not, he wasn’t sure.

“Hey Harry.” She said quietly with a small, timid smile. It was so strange – Tracey was the one in the group with a constant smile on her face – to see her so nervous was jarring. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit with a Bludger.” He answered dryly, raising a brow at her.

“Right – stupid question, sorry.” She muttered before taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry – for everything. I’ve been a really awful friend this past month, and you deserved better.”

Harry was quiet for a time, content to simply hold his gaze on Tracey – out of the corner of his eye, he noted Daphne standing with an impassive look on her face, yet her eyes were darting between the two of them nervously.

He pursed his lips and ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. “You were scared and surprised – I can’t imagine what I must have looked like to you.” He said after a moment, nodding slowly. Tracey’s shoulders sagged, and he heard her release the breath she’d been holding. “This doesn’t excuse what you both did, but it’s a start.” He added, looking between the two with a small smile.

“Of course.” Tracey said quickly.

“I’d expect nothing less.” Daphne nodded.

“Pull up a bloody chair, I feel tiny with you both standing there.” He muttered, waving his hand at the two of them. Daphne lowered herself gracefully into the chair she had previously been occupying, folding her legs neatly as she sat with all of the poise expected of her, while Tracey shuffled a nearby chair over and slumped into it heavily.

“So,” Daphne began with a lopsided smile. “Eirene Taylor is still rather pleased with herself.”

Tracey snorted. “She might as well be the princess of Slytherin after trouncing Neville.”

“It _was_ rather funny.” Harry chuckled, coughing a little as his ribs protested.

“Did you see the way he _bounced_?” Tracey grinned, leaning forward in the chair as she glanced between Harry and Daphne, her hazel eyes sparkling.

“I’m rather fond of the wheeze he made when he landed.” Daphne smirked. “It’s always good to see Neville tossed on his arse.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego’s been bruised all month – not even pummelling Dean and Seamus helped.

“Oh please – Seamus is more likely to blow himself up, and Dean is too focused on that Muggle sport of his. If Neville hadn’t beaten the two of them, I’d have had to beat some sense into him.”

“You think you could take Neville?” Tracey blinked. “He wiped the floor with both of them – and he hasn’t been as cocky as he was with Eirene.”

“Please, I’ve been knocking Neville into the dirt since we were six.” Daphne sniffed, flicking an invisible speck of dust from her skirt.

“Eirene caught him off-guard.” Harry shrugged. “She won’t be able to get away with it again.”

“You thinking about duelling her?” Tracey asked excitedly. “You’ve not lost yet – and we’ve all noticed you don’t use the same spells you used against Draco.”

“You’ve been holding out on us, Potter.” Daphne grinned. “It was glorious to watch. He’d been bragging about taking you down a peg ever since Pomfrey released him.”

Harry shrugged. “The duels aren’t actual fights – that was.”

“Think you could teach us how to jump that high?” Tracey asked, bouncing in her seat a little. “It was so cool!”

Harry snorted. “Maybe.”

“How about that duel between Kullens and Granger? That was interesting.” Daphne said, raising her eyebrows as she glanced between the two of them.

Harry nodded – it certainly had been interesting. He had expected Hermione to flounder against the daughter of House Kullens. After all, Hermione didn’t have the benefit of practicing spells over the Summer like they did. And yet, Hermione had surprised them all – not only had she held her own against the Ravenclaw, but she had _dominated_ the match.

“I’ve no idea where she learned half of those spells.” He muttered, rubbing his chin absently. “Knowing her, that was probably only the tip of the iceberg.”

“She sure surprised Lilith.” Tracey grinned. “It’s a good job she wasn’t sore about losing.”

“It surprised me.” Daphne shrugged. “House Kullens has a reputation that’s well-earned. They’re not a family that would take well to a Muggle-Born beating one of their own.”

“Lilith seems different from her father.” Harry shrugged. Lord Kullens was an arsehole, and the two of them had been forced to socialise with him on multiple occasions over the years – Daphne was the heir to House Greengrass, and Harry was the future Lord Potter – having to rub elbows with men and women who held to the same beliefs as Lord Dondarrion made him gag. How Arcturus hadn’t cursed each of the members of the Wizengamot for one reason or another over the years baffled him.

“What’s he like?” Tracey asked, blinking owlishly.

Harry and Daphne shared a look, and Harry shrugged. “He’s a right miserable shit – he’d see Purebloods given more rights while stripping the Half-Bloods and Muggle-Born of theirs. Rumour has it, he supported Voldemort in the last war, but nothing was ever proven.”

“Oh.” Tracey muttered.

“He’s part of a very small, very _loud_ minority in the Wizengamot.” Daphne said, grasping Tracey’s hand. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“He does like to conveniently forget I’m a Half-Blood.” Harry snorted. “He came to Arcturus for the Potter vote last month, apparently. Something about some legislation for tracking Muggle-Born.”

“I assume Arcturus threw him from Blackwall.”

“Oh, Arcturus never let him through the Wards – bounced right off them and landed in Saint Mungo’s.” Harry grinned. “Only reason he knew it was him was from the letter he sent the day before, inviting himself.”

“Wizards are stupid.” Daphne muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Harry didn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer, instead content to stare at the ceiling for a moment as he thought of what he knew about Lilith Kullens – it wasn’t much.

“What do you know about Lilith?” He asked, glancing at Daphne and Tracey – if there were any two witches that could be relied on for a good read on anyone in the school, it was the two of them.

The usual gossips like Lavender and Parvati were spouting their words to anyone that would listen, the Daphne and Tracey duo kept silent and their ears to the ground – it was rather unnerving, in truth.

“She’s a Ravenclaw, obviously.” Daphne shrugged, glancing at her fingernails.

“Tried to start a club on Wizarding Society last year too – it didn’t get enough signatures.” Tracey shrugged. Distantly, Harry recalled a signature form pinned to the bulletin board in Gryffindor Tower last year about something along those lines – he hadn’t signed up for it because he’d been raised in it.

“That was her?” He asked, frowning. “Odd thing for a Kullens, isn’t it?”

“She keeps to herself, mostly, so there’s no telling _what_ she’s like.” Daphne shrugged. “She could be the next Dark Lord for all we know.”

“That’s not even remotely funny.” Harry sighed, running his hands down his face. “I’ve been seeing her everywhere since the duel with Draco.”

“We all have our classes together – what’s odd about that?” Tracey frowned, confused.

“I never noticed her – at least not _really_ – until after the duel. Everyone was backing away and talking amongst themselves, but she stayed where she was and just stared at me.”

“I think Harry has himself an admirer.” Daphne smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. Harry cringed and squirmed in the bed.

“ _Merlin_ , anything but that.”

“What’s wrong with having an admirer?” Tracey asked him, her voice light and teasing. “Someone might make a respectable wizard out of you yet.”

“We’re twelve.” He replied flatly, fixing her with a deadpan look. “I get enough of this from Sirius.” He groaned.

“And look how _he_ turned out.” Daphne snickered, holding her fingers to her mouth.

“I don’t know – he _is_ rather handsome.” Tracey grinned, a far-away look in her eye.

“I do believe Tracey is smitten – poor girl.” Daphne sighed, shaking her head.

“Am not!” Tracey cried, slapping Daphne in the shoulder lightly. “I just appreciate his teaching method.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

“Can we _not_ talk about Tracey fancying Sirius, please?” Harry whimpered, groaning as he slid his hands slowly down his face – perhaps Pomfrey could dose him with enough potions to make him forget the last few hours?

“Of course – he’s a married man, and we don’t associate with homewreckers.” Daphne sniffed before winking playfully at him. “And here I thought she was the respectable sort.”

Tracey groaned and buried her face in her hands – from where he lay, Harry could see the crimson flush that covered her from her hairline, all the way down to the base of her neck.

“Hey, what about Her-“ Tracey began indignantly, only for the stern voice of Pomfrey to cut her off – Harry breathed a sigh of relief and thanked whichever deity from the Pantheon had been watching over him.

“Girls – back to your Dorms. You can visit Mister Potter tomorrow once he’s had some rest – it’s almost curfew.” She ordered, levelling her stern gaze at the two Slytherins. Harry grinned as the two got to their feet quickly and offered him their goodnight’s.

Once the two had left the room, Pomfrey hurried to his side and began to weave a complicated pattern with her wand over his body. He tried to follow the pattern and he even strained his hearing in a vain attempt to understand the spell, but it was for naught.

In only a few moments, a representation of his body was hovering above him, mirroring his movements – when he raised his arm, so did the form above him. He grinned as Pomfrey fixed him with an exasperated look.

“Your ribs are coming along nicely, Mister Potter – would you like me to give you some potion to help you sleep? It’ll be a rough night otherwise.”

Harry pursed his lips – on the one hand, _Dreamless Sleep_ would give him the first full night’s sleep in almost six months. On the other, it was highly addictive. “I’ll pass for tonight – maybe tomorrow.”

Pomfrey narrowed her eyes at him for a moment and pursed her lips. “Very well.” She nodded, swiping her wand through the figure above him – Harry smiled at the feeling of the dissipating magic as it trickled down onto him before fading into nothing. It was warm, comforting, and tickled ever so slightly. “I’ll be closing the doors to the wing shortly – I would suggest getting some sleep. Your body has a long way to go to heal yet. If you need me, you need only call my name – I’ll be in my quarters just through there.” Pomfrey said, pointing to a small door behind a row of beds. “Goodnight, Mister Potter.” She added with a small smile before she turned and left.

The night passed slowly, and Harry lost track of how long he remained awake – all he knew, truly, was that the sun had long since set and the moon now hung in the clear sky, its cool white-blue light the only source of illumination within the dark room.

His torso still felt tight, and if he concentrated, he could almost feel the bones knitting themselves back together and repairing the surrounding tissue – though that was more likely to be his imagination.

He had moved very little in the time since Pomfrey had left him – content to simply stare at the far wall where a portrait of Tora, the Goddess of Life, and the Patron Goddess of Healers hung.

Harry had never been raised to be religious, though he knew that both Arcturus and Sirius believed and occasionally prayed to Temra and Enera in their darkest moments. Though, as he stared at the portrait that would occasionally smile and wave at him, he couldn’t help but wonder how many believers were truly because they genuinely believed or were believers simply because the Goddesses were _pretty_.

Tora had an ethereal beauty in her painting – her milky-white skin was without blemish, and her long hair flowed beautifully in silver-white strands that framed her heart-shaped face. Atop her head was a Mithril crescent headpiece with a large diamond in its centre. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, and were framed by long, dark eyelashes that fluttered with every blink.

Her robe was a thin, silvery piece of silk that covered her breasts, but still revealed the curve of them as the dress revealed a large V of skin that ended a good distance beneath her belly-button – at the very least, her modesty was preserved. Would that matter to a Goddess? Was it blasphemy to portray her so?

She waved her fingers at him teasingly as she continued to stare back at him, her free hand gently tracing the golden necklace around her neck. He pursed his lips absently – she was beautiful, but not in any way that he found attractive. Oh, he understood the reason she was depicted as she was – there was a reason she was the Patron of Sex, after all, but even now, looking at her – he felt nothing.

He was distantly reminded of his experience with the mirror, and the vision he had experienced under its thrall. As more time went by, the more distant the memory became – but he could still remember the blurred figure that his children had scrambled to. It irked him beyond reason that he hadn’t been able to make out any features.

He closed his eyes and sank into his pillow – he had no intention of sleeping if he could avoid it. Perhaps, if he stayed awake for long enough, his body would force him into a dreamless slumber.

He reached out with his magic and smiled to himself. He could feel all the inhabitants of the castle as they slept – he found Hermione first, he always knew where she was. He could feel Neville, fast asleep in his room, and Daphne and Tracey not long after that, hidden away in the dungeons. He lingered around them, basking in the warmth their presences gave him.

He was snapped back to his body at the sensation of his bed shifting – his eyes snapped open, his vision entirely taken up by a pair of large, emerald eyes that blinked at him slowly. He gasped and shot back in the bed, flailing his arms wildly as he scrambled for his wand on his bedside table – Remus had been kind enough to ask Neville to grab it from his Quidditch Locker for him.

With panicked, fumbling fingers, he quickly levelled it at the creature before him – the light, tinkling laughter of the portrait opposite him a quiet accompaniment to the banging and clattering of the creature as it fell back and off the bed. Harry blinked.

“ _Dobby_?” He frowned, confused. “What in _Morgana’s tits_ are you doing here?”

The Elf picked himself up slowly, rubbing at his forehead before giving himself a quick shake – his large, batlike ears flapping quietly. Dobby appeared much the same as the last time Harry had seen him – he was filthy, and looked like he hadn’t bathed in months, and the grimy pillowcase he wore was barely holding itself together.

“Harry Potter came back to school.” Dobby muttered miserably. “Dobby tried to warn Harry Potter. Dobby failed.”

“You didn’t fail – I mean, well, you _did_ , but not for why you think you did… I think?” Harry tried, frowning as his head began to throb. House Elves were a fundamental part of his life growing up – while he might not have liked Kreacher, he _loved_ Lispy, and knew just how terribly some Elves were treated. Dobby’s filthy appearance and the fresh bandages on Dobby’s hands gave him an inkling at just how terrible his family was.

Dobby sniffled, a large tear trailing along his nose. “Harry Potter is in _danger_ – it not be safe at Hogwarties.”

“I was in danger last year too – you can’t expect me to not come to school because a stranger tells me it’s not safe!” Harry replied in a hushed voice, his eyes darting between Dobby and Pomfrey’s door.

Dobby scrambled onto the bed, and Harry shifted his legs to give the little creature some room. “Dobby knows all about Harry Potters brave battle against the mean Troll.” Dobby nodded eagerly. “It be a story that Dobby hears often.”

“You hear about me?” Harry blinked, stunned.

“Oh yes, Harry Potter – Dobby’s family discuss you often.” Dobby paused. “They not be saying nice things.” He added, wringing his hands worriedly.

“I didn’t expect anything else at this point, frankly.” Harry sniffed, glaring at the sheet on his bed. He sighed tiredly. “What do you want?”

“Dobby wants Harry Potter to be safe – Harry Potter _must_ go home.”

“You can’t be serious! Arcturus would have my hide if I turned up at Blackwall!”

“No, Harry Potter must go _home_ – where it be safe!” Dobby repeated, tugging on his large ears worriedly. Harry blinked and opened his mouth, only to stop himself as his thoughts whirled in his head.

“You want me to go to _Rosestone_?”

Dobby nodded again. “It bes the safest place for Harry Potter – not even _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ dared go there.” The Elf suddenly began to worry at the hem of his pillowcase. “Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough.”

“ _Your_ Bludger?” Harry growled, narrowing his eyes dangerously at the House Elf.

“Dobby feels most aggrieved – Dobby had to iron his hands.” The Elf replied, holding out his hands.

“You could have _killed_ me, you bloody, _stupid_ -“ Harry snapped, stopping when he went to sit up, only to collapse on the bed as he was wracked with a series of wet coughs.

The feel of a cold flannel against his forehead helped to calm his breathing, and he looked to see Dobby looking at him pitifully. He was too tired to be angry – _truly_ angry. He sighed deeply. “I could kill you for landing me in here.”

“Dobby be used to death threats – Dobby gets them five times a day at home!”

“Well, then you’re bound to a shit family.” Harry muttered. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry they treat you so bad.”

“It be okay, Harry Potter – Dobby understands his lot in life.” Dobby sniffed, dabbing at his large eyes with his pillowcase.

“I’m still not going home.” Harry said flatly, arching a brow at the Elf.

“But Harry Potter _must_ – it bes doubly important now that the _Chamber of Secrets_ be opened again!”

“You know about the Chamber?” Harry asked, his eyes focusing on the Elf with an intensity he didn’t think he had left in him. “Do you know what’s attacking the students?”

Dobby had lunged at a nearby potion bottle that he had long since emptied and began whacking himself on the head with it. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Harry flicked his hand up and called the bottle to his hand as he fixed the House Elf with a look. “No more punishing yourself in front of me – you have answers to questions I have.”

“Please, don’t ask more of Dobby – Dobby already said too much!” The Elf wailed, dropping to his knees as he tugged on his large ears.

“But-“

The sound of Pomfrey’s door opening startled him, and for a moment, he took his eyes from the Elf. He grimaced as the Matron looked at him disapprovingly.

“Mister Potter – would you care to explain as to why you’re still awake?”

“I-“ Harry began, glancing to where the Elf had been on his bed – Dobby was gone. “No, Madame Pomfrey – there’s no excuse.”

“Very well, now, I expect you to get some sleep – if that is understood?”

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and as Harry placed the bottle back on his bedside table, he frowned. He had more questions than ever now – the _Chamber_ had been opened before, and the only person that seemed to know anything about it was an Elf that seemed intent on maiming him.

As he leaned back into the pillow, the dull throb of a headache formed behind his tired eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Shit.”

* * *

Two days had passed since the visit of Dobby, and Harry had barely slept an hour through it all. His torso continued to burn, and despite his tired and broken body, Harry couldn’t help the whirlwind of thoughts that had plagued him since the House Elf had visited him.

The _Chamber of Secrets_ was real, and it had been opened. Not only that, but it had been opened once before – had attacks like these also happened before? If so, what was similar about them?

The thoughts had zipped through his mind like the Cornish Pixies Lockhart had shown them at the beginning of the year, tugging on this and that, vying for attention. No matter how much he tried, however, he couldn’t focus on one for nearly long enough to come to any reasonable conclusion.

Sirius and Remus had both visited him each day, spending what little free time they had at his bedside and asking how he was doing – Sirius had taken particular note of the painting of Tora opposite his bed, smiling wistfully at it, as if seeing some old friend he hadn’t seen in years.

Perhaps it was his exhaustion, but as much as Harry had wanted to enjoy the company of his two guardians, he just _couldn’t_. His mind was far too occupied by thoughts of the _Chamber of Secrets_ and what might be attacking the students.

Even when his friends had come to visit him, he’d only half paid attention to what they were saying. Hermione had mentioned something about their classes, Neville said something about Clara and Hedwig, and Daphne and Tracey had chimed in with the latest goings on in the castle. He’d nodded when needed, but he _knew_ that he’d been rather transparent.

The door opened, and Harry found himself leaning forward in his bed to see who had arrived – there had been a steady slew of students over the two days he’d been cooped up in his bed. It was that time of year when everyone caught something or another, and Harry was simply glad he’d avoided it – a cold was never a fun experience. Even Hermione had been sniffling a little, though he’d seen her take a potion from Madame Pomfrey on her way out.

He looked, through half-lidded eyes, as Tracey appeared in the Wing, carrying a small stack of books in her arms – no doubt an attempt to help him pass the time. He smiled a little at the thought of it – he had no idea how much longer he would have to remain under Pomfrey’s care, and each time he’d asked, the Healer had fixed him with an odd look and refused to answer him. It was vexing.

“Hey, Harry!” Tracey smiled, placing the books on the bedside table next to his wand when she got to him. As it was a Tuesday, and only just past the evening meal, Tracey was still in her uniform – the pleated skirt she always wore absent of any wrinkle, and her green-trimmed cloak swallowing her lithe frame. “I brought you some books – I thought you might want something to pass the time.” She said, sitting down in the chair by his bed.

“Thanks.” He smiled weakly as he stifled a yawn. “Are the others coming?”

Tracey shook her head slowly. “Neville got detention with Snape for getting into a scuffle with a Ravenclaw before class. Daphne and Hermione are busy copying their notes for you.” She said, offering a quick smile. “So, you’re stuck with me, Potter.”

“However will I manage?” He huffed, the corner of his lip quirking.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way.” Tracey hummed, threading her fingers through her hair absently. Unlike when she had come to apologise to him, this time her hair was down and cascaded over her right shoulder in dark waves.

“How were the others?”

“Oh, still fretting over you – of course. Honestly, anyone would think we care about you.” Tracey muttered, making a face. Harry snorted and shifted in the bed in some vain attempt to make himself more comfortable.

“I knew it.” He grinned. “Now all I need to do is get Daphne to admit it out loud and my life is complete.”

“Oh, she’ll never give you the satisfaction.”

Harry snorted. “She’d make me work for it, no doubt.”

Tracey leaned forward in her seat and crossed her legs. “Between the two of us – I think you’re her favourite.” She whispered with a conspiratorial wink.

Harry chuckled quietly. “That’s because she knows she’d kill Neville within a week.” He sighed happily. “What was the business with Neville?”

“Oh, nothing much, really.” She muttered. “We were waiting outside the room for Snape to arrive when Goldstein said something about you – honestly, I couldn’t even tell you what he said. Neville leapt on him though.”

“That sounds like Neville.”

“It took half a dozen of us to pull him off the poor boy – Goldstein had no idea what hit him.”

“Makes sense why I saw him in here earlier with a busted nose then.” Harry shrugged. “So how long is Neville going to be scrubbing the cauldrons for?”

“Just for tonight, I think – I don’t think Snape cared that much with it not being one of us Neville got into it with.”

“Sounds about right.”

The two fell into a companionable silence after that, content to simply enjoy one another’s company. While Harry was still bitter about the last month, he found himself simply enjoying the break in the monotony of being stuck in the bloody bed – he alternated each hour between strangling Dobby for his misplaced desire to see him safe, and thanking the deranged Elf for at least caring about him.

“You never told us why you dislike Snape so much…” Tracey said eventually, breaking the silence.

Harry squirmed in his bed a little. “It’s not that interesting, really – Neville and Daphne know.

“Oh.” Tracey said quietly, and Harry winced.

“It’s nothing like that – they just grew up on the same stories I did.” He sighed, running a hand down his face tiredly. “Snape and my father didn’t get on – they were both as bad as one another, if you ask me.”

“What happened?”

“My father would prank him – so would the rest of the Marauders, and Snape would curse them in the back, or try and get them in trouble.” He shrugged. “I enjoy a good prank, but sometimes they took it too far.”

“I can see that I suppose. Explains why he hates you, at least.” She nodded slowly. “Could you imagine the fit he’d have had if you were in Slytherin?” Tracey smirked.

“ _Merlin_ , I’d rather not think about it – I could have ended up a Dorm-mate of Draco.”

“ _That_ would’ve been a recipe for disaster. Not to mention, neither you nor Neville have a subtle bone in your bodies.”

“What do you mean? I can be subtle!”

“Potter, you have all the subtlety of a brick.” Tracey sighed, rolling her eyes. “Name one time you’ve ever been subtle.”

“Uh-“

“Exactly.”

“I’m _thinking_!”

“Don’t think _too_ hard – wouldn’t want to burst a blood vessel.”

“Okay – what about that duel I had last week with Zacharias Smith?”

“The cocky Hufflepuff that called you an up-jumped prick?” Tracey asked, her voice flat and her brow raised disbelievingly.

“He did? I didn’t hear him.” Harry blinked.

“That was because you were standing on the other side of the platform to the rest of us. Your duel had all the subtlety of Finnegan when he set Weasley on fire.” Tracey snickered, holding a hand to her mouth in some vain attempt to stifle her laughter.

“The spell I used was subtle!”

“Harry, you threw him across the room – or at least, you would have if the shield hadn’t caught him.” Tracey laughed, all attempts at hiding her amusement forgotten as she clutched her stomach.

“Went better than your duel against Calvert.” Harry huffed, folding his arms across his chest petulantly.

“It did – but that’s what I get for trying to be clever.” Tracey shrugged. “Evidently, trying to take a page out of Hermione’s book will get me laid out on my back.”

Harry fixed her with a look.

“You need to stop spending so much time around Sirius.” Tracey sighed, slapping him gently on the shoulder.

“I was under the impression you quite liked Sirius.”

“Oh, _Merlin_ not this again.” Tracey groaned, burying her face in her hands. “All I said was, _objectively_ , he’s rather handsome! Harry, he’s old enough to be my Dad!”

Harry shrugged and grinned. “Doesn’t stop some witches – when we’re older, if Amelia ever gets smart, she’ll know to keep you well away from him.”

“Harry!” Tracey shrieked, slapping his shoulder once again and causing him to laugh loudly – at least he wasn’t breaking into a coughing fit each time he laughed now. “You’re terrible!”

He shrugged, not apologetic in the slightest. “Sirius is worse.”

“You make me sound like I’ll grow up into some kind of homewrecker.” Tracey muttered, leaning back in her chair, and folding her arms across her chest with a pout.

“There’s time for you to see the error of your ways yet.” Harry snickered; his amusement only increased as Tracey stuck her tongue out at him. “What books did you bring me?”

“Oh, just the basics – I found something on a few different subjects that I thought you might like. Charms, Transfiguration, and something about Dragons.” She answered, thumbing through a few volumes.

“I appreciate it.” Harry smiled slightly.

“Neville tried to get me to bring a book on killer plants, but Hermione talked him out of it – might put you to sleep though, you look exhausted.” She said, her eyes sweeping over his body.

“Oh, it’s nothing – just a side effect of having your ribs shattered. It’s tricky to get comfortable.” He replied easily, shrugging his shoulders.

“I can get Madame Pomfrey if you’d-“

“No, it’s fine – really. I _really_ don’t want any _Dreamless Sleep_.” He said quickly, his eyes levelling with her own.

“Why not?” She frowned, confused. “It helps you sleep, right?”

“It’s addictive – _really_ addictive.” Harry muttered. “After the whole mirror thing last year, I think I’ve got a healthy aversion to feeling like that ever again.”

“If you’re sure…” Tracey murmured, shifting in her seat a little as her eyes continued to scan him. “Promise me you’ll try and get some rest tonight though? Hermione’s going spare over making sure you can get straight back into the swing of things when you’re feeling better – I think watching you get hurt really threw her for a loop.”

“Threw me from my broom.” He grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Tracey sighed, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You had us all worried.”

“I’m alright.”

“But you nearly weren’t, and that terrified us. Daphne’s still trying to find out who tampered with the Bludger.”

“There’s no need.” Harry shrugged. “I know who it was.”

“Who? Tell me.” Tracey demanded, shooting forward in her chair – her eyes were blazing as she gripped his wrist.

“It was a House Elf – that same one I told you visited me over Summer. He visited me the other night.”

“Why would he _do_ that?”

“He wants me to go to Rosestone – hide away until the danger has passed, I think. Something about the _Chamber of Secrets_ being opened.”

“It’s _true_?” Tracey gasped, her eyes blinking owlishly.

“Aye, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Harry – nobody knows where the Chamber is. It’s the only private sanctum of the Founders that’s never been found. It’s supposed to be hidden in the Slytherin Common Room.”

“Why does everyone think that?”

“It makes the most sense – there’s plenty of clues, apparently, though like I said; nobody’s found it yet. I should probably let the others know – Neville’s been threatening to beat the student who messed with the Bludger senseless when he finds them.”

“Good old Neville.” Harry grinned as Tracey got to her feet.

“Get better quickly, Harry – we all miss you.”

“I’ll do my best.” He replied, smiling a little as she squeezed his wrist before hurrying from his bedside. He sighed as he returned to counting the curls and flourishes in the ceiling. “Yep – I’m going to kill that elf.” He muttered under his breath.


	29. Hermione III

Hermione was a witch on a mission. For four days, she had made sure that Harry wouldn’t fall behind in his classes, and while she would have preferred to stay at his bedside, so as to personally attest to his well-being, there were other things that needed to be done.

She had visited him, of course – there was no power either Muggle or Magical that would keep her from spending what free time she _could_ scrounge up at his bedside. Neville, likewise, was just as adamant at spending time beside his best friend.

The loyalty that Neville displayed, that utter devotion to Harry that he wore on his sleeve – at times she wondered what it would be like to have someone as devoted to her. Perhaps, if she had been born to Magical parents, she may have grown up with Harry, Neville, and Daphne – maybe, she wouldn’t have had such a lonely childhood before coming to Hogwarts.

None of that mattered now, though. Harry was injured – _again_ – and he needed her help before the mounds of schoolwork drowned him. While she was very proud of being the top student in their year, often switching that title with Harry many times throughout the year, she believed in honourable competition. She wouldn’t allow Harry’s grades to slip because he was incapable of attending class.

At the very least, she was glad that he wasn’t asleep for another two weeks this year – that had been the most terrible experience of her life. To see the boy that she had so unjustly disliked, simply because he was more in-tune with his magic, laid so low after he had leapt on the back of the Troll without a moment’s hesitation to save her.

She was haunted by the sight of him, laying on the tiled floor of the bathroom, a pool of blood slowly spreading out underneath him. She’d woken in a cold sweat too many times for her to count, and it would take a few minutes for her to remember that Harry was, in the end, healthy and alive.

His most recent escapade had put _years_ on her, she was sure. To see him harassed by that _bloody_ Bludger had left her a trembling mess. She’d sprinted down to the pitch the moment he’d been thrown from his broom, and while he had never told her _how_ he managed to channel his magic through his body like he did, she knew he would land safely.

After the incident, she had hovered around Sirius while Madame Pomfrey worked, and the quick glance she had caught of Harry’s torso had left her in near tears. It had already turned violent shades of black and purple, and the usual outlines of his ribs had been warped and distorted by the impacts – how he was still alive, she didn’t know.

In the days following, she had visited him when she could – sometimes coinciding with his other visitors, few as they were, and she found herself becoming more and more worried. It wasn’t something she had been able to put into words, and even now, her wide vocabular failed her, but something had been off.

She had shared her concerns with Madame Pomfrey, in a quiet meeting between the two of them in her office.

The Healer had agreed and promised to speak to her best friend at the next opportunity. It had satisfied her, and she had left to continue her note-copying for the boy that had, over the last year, essentially become the centre of her world.

It had been a startling realisation, that almost everything she did now involved Harry to some degree. When she sat in class, Harry was usually by her side. When she studied, Harry was across from her. When Hermione went for a walk, Harry was right there with her.

Not a single one of her other friends – as shocked as she still was that she had more than the one – had spent the same amount of time by his side as she had. While they did spend many hours next to him, chatting away the time about something or another, none had quite dedicated themselves in the way she had.

After herself, Neville had been by his side the most, and that was to be expected – but she knew that Harry trusted Neville to look after Clara while he couldn’t. At first, Hermione had wondered why Clara hadn’t simply healed him with her tears, and it had been Harry that had explained just how weak it would make his Phoenix. It hadn’t been until Harry’s second night in the Infirmary that Neville had come up with the brilliant idea to use Harry’s cloak to visit him at night – as a result, both she and Neville had snuck to his bedside each night since.

Daphne had spent time with Harry, and while Hermione was glad for the mending of the friendship between the two, they all knew things couldn’t go back to how they were after only a few days. Hermione had been glad, of course – Daphne was one of his oldest friends and her absence had been felt keenly by all three Gryffindors, though by Harry the most. While a palpable rift had remained between the two of them, often skirting around uncomfortable topics or avoiding them completely. Hermione had enjoyed returning to the easy companionship they had shared before – her help had been most welcome in making notes for Harry.

Tracey had spent a fair amount of time chatting to Harry, and Hermione was happy that there wasn’t the distance between the two of them that there was with Harry and Daphne. Tracey’s easy-going attitude and light teasing were enough to loosen her best friend up and genuinely smile for the first time in a long time. The first sight of it had almost brought her to tears.

Sometimes, she couldn’t help but marvel at the people that were drawn to her raven haired, green-eyed friend. That same friend that had instantly accepted her for who she was after he had nearly died trying to save her. He drove her to madness more than she cared to admit, but a single look in those intense, emerald eyes was enough to leave her short of breath.

He had a unique presence about him, something that, despite everything, drew her in. She could _always_ tell where Harry was – even if he was on the other side of the castle, or in the middle of a crowd. When she had first realised, it had left her more than a little panicked – was it normal to feel someone like that? She could sense those around her if she concentrated, but with Harry it was instinctual, _natural_.

And how would she even be able to ask if it was the same for anyone else? She couldn’t exactly waltz up to a professor and ask such a personal, intimate question. Just the thought of that was _mortifying_.

Even now, she could feel him in the Hospital Wing – his magic was agitated, on edge, and he seemed troubled by something.

Her pace quickened, almost subconsciously. Whatever was troubling Harry likely wasn’t good, and she’d make sure he wasn’t alone.

She got to the Hospital Wing quickly, her books clutched to her chest tightly as she quietly opened and closed the door behind her. Ahead of her were the only two occupants of the Wing – Harry and Madame Pomfrey. Harry was glaring at the Healer, while Madame Pomfrey had her hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face – neither had noticed her entrance.

“For the last time, I don’t want any of that _bloody_ potion!” Harry snapped. His hair was far limper and more lifeless than she remembered seeing it before – his eyes looked sunken and had large, dark circles around them. She blinked, and instead she saw the Harry she always saw – _Harry_.

“Mister Potter, even if I have to force it down your throat myself, you _will_ drink the potion – as it is, I’ve already alerted your godfather on the matter.” Pomfrey replied in a tone that brokered no argument. “If I don’t force it down your throat, it will be Healer Tonks – who should be arriving shortly.”

“You called _Andromeda_?” Harry cried, throwing his arms up in the air. “It’s bad enough you told Sirius!”

“You are not sleeping, Mister Potter – don’t think I haven’t noticed. You are not as clever as you think you are. Your body needs _rest_ if it is to properly heal, and don’t think I won’t keep you in here until I think you’ve gotten enough.”

“But I _can’t_ sleep.” Harry ground out, glaring at the Healer. “If I go to sleep-“

“You have nightmares.” Pomfrey replied flatly, and Hermione instinctively placed a hand over her mouth. “I know the signs of Post Traumatic Stress, Mister Potter – I’m a _Healer_.” She added quietly, her voice softer as she sat down beside his bed.

Hermione recognised the name – how couldn’t she? To think that Harry had it – it broke her heart – the boy whose smile always made his eyes light up, who had spun her around on the dance floor when nobody else would… Somehow, it made her sad in a way that she’d never experienced before.

“I _don’t_ have Post Traumatic Stress.” Harry snapped, glaring at the Healer. “I have _nightmares_ – that’s all they are, and they’ll pass like dreams do.”

“Mis-“ Madame Pomfrey began, only to clear her throat and begin again. “ _Harry_ , I looked after you before Sirius and Arcturus arrived to get you after his trial. You were here for a few days, as I’ve told you before.” Hermione blinked – she’d never heard that before, and she suddenly felt more guilty than ever before about her eavesdropping. “The events you’ve been through, Harry, would more than qualify _anyone_ to have it. That you can pull yourself from your bed each day is remarkable – I’m not sure I would be so strong in your position.”

“I _don’t_ have it.” Harry muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear.

“Then what would you prefer I call it?”

“Nightmares.” He grunted after a quiet moment, and Hermione felt the prickling of tears in the corners of her eyes as her heart lurched in her chest. She’d never heard Harry sound so broken, so _defeated_ before.

“Very well. There are only a few things I can really recommend, you’re far too young for some techniques – and _no_ , I can’t stun you.”

Hermione watched as Harry rolled his eyes. “Very well – I’m sure Andromeda won’t mind if I ask her.”

“She most certainly will not – she’s a respectable Healer.” Madame Pomfrey sniffed.

“Daphne might.” Harry shrugged.

“I think she would be more likely to put you in here herself.”

“Neville?”

“He’d be in the bed next to you, don’t you think?”

“Tracey then.”

“She’d set a creature on you.”

“Hermione?”

“Miss Granger?” Madame Pomfrey snorted, startling Hermione from where she was standing – her arms still clutching her books tightly to her chest. “She’d drag you back to Healer Tonks and I, and make you deal with what needs dealing with.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “What’s the point in having friends if they won’t stun you every now and then?”

“You’ve too much of your godfather in you – far too cheeky for your own good.” Madame Pomfrey sniffed as she got to her feet. “Now, I do believe that Miss Granger has been waiting for long enough.”

“Wha-“ Harry began, his eyes growing wide as he immediately turned to look in her direction. Hermione felt her cheeks grow impossibly warm under his gaze and having been called out by the Matron.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear-“ She began, only to be shushed by the Healer – a kinder expression on her face than Hermione had ever seen. She would admit it to no one, but Madame Pomfrey had such a stern, strict air about her at times that she often found it quite intimidating.

“You heard nothing more and nothing less than what I wished for you to hear.” Madame Pomfrey smiled kindly. “This one,” She added, glancing at Harry who was scowling from his bed at the Healer. “needs all the help he can get – _Merlin_ knows he won’t look after himself.”

“But-“ Hermione began, blinking owlishly. “What about Neville?”

“I fear Mister Longbottom would not be the stern hand that Mister Potter needs, wouldn’t you say?”

Hermione nodded shyly and tried to hide behind the books clutched to her chest.

“None of that, dear – go on, I think he could use some company.” Madame Pomfrey smiled, patting her shoulder kindly. Hermione nodded silently and slowly made her way over – Harry was staring intently at the far wall, where a picture of a scantily clad woman waved coyly at him. Hermione frowned at the picture and huffed before purposely turning and ignoring it.

Hermione began to chew on her lip as she fiddled with her fingers in her lap – she had placed her books on Harry’s bedside table – while she looked at him worriedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you had nightmares?”

“Because it’s not important.” He huffed, his eyes looking anywhere but at her – he looked _exhausted_. “I’m fine.” He added, quietly.

“You’re not _fine_ , Harry.” She whispered passionately, reaching out and snatching his hand between both of hers. His palm felt rough and calloused in her hand – she’d seen his sword, of course, but she’d often thought that it was merely an accessory – the Wizarding World, despite everything her friends had done to show her, was still so very new to her.

“It’s my burden – not anyone else’s.” Harry replied quietly. “I’ll get over it.”

“ _Harry James Potter_ ,” She hissed, squeezing his hand “ _Nothing_ about you is a burden. You’re my best friend.”

“Thanks.” He muttered quietly, pressing his lips into a sad, half-attempted smile. “So – care to explain why you were eavesdropping?”

“I _was not_ eavesdropping – I simply walked in when you mentioned you weren’t drinking a potion. It would have been rude to interrupt.” Hermione sniffed, though the tugging at the corners of her mouth was barely suppressed.

“Ever the innocent.”

“Of course – how else will I become Head Girl in our final year?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow and grinning.

“Ah, how very Slytherin of you – Daphne would be proud.” Harry chuckled, shifting his grip in her hands until their fingers were intertwined. Hermione stared at their joined hands and couldn’t help the giddy smile that split her face.

She had always noticed Harry – how couldn’t she? His commanding presence had been almost intoxicating ever since he joined her on the boat across the lake. He was smart, and clearly powerful – though she got the distinct impression that he kept a firm hold on his magic, though she had no real proof. Despite her childish jealousy before the incident with the Troll, he had thrown himself into danger _for her_.

He had stayed by her side during the _Gauntlet_ beneath the castle every step of the way. He had held her while she wept after being overcome by her fear of heights, and he had made sure that everyone was safe before he was rescued. She had sat by his bedside on both occasions he was injured that year, and more than once, she had been startled at just how _young_ he had looked while asleep.

She had expected _The-Boy-Who-_ Lived to be aloof, or, at the very least, distant. The kind, sweet boy who always thought of his friends before himself had thrown her for a loop. This was a boy who didn’t mock her love for books, but actually shared them – a boy who listened to her passionate arguments about whatever subject took her fancy, and either calmly countered them with reasoned, well thought out logic, or agreed with her.

The boy that had danced with her on the most magical night of her life – who had gone to _her_ before anyone else.

Hermione valued intelligence above all else, though, that wasn’t to say she wasn’t also a _girl_ – Harry was, as Daphne would often tease, _very_ pretty. His long, dark hair was thick and glossy, and his almond-shaped eyes were so intense, she often found herself staring – thankfully, Harry hadn’t noticed.

She smirked at him. “I’ll have you know I’m an upstanding Gryffindor, Mister Potter.”

“I’d expect nothing less from the Gryffindor who set Professor Snape on _fire_.” He laughed merrily – it was such a contrast to the exhausted boy she had seen stubbornly refusing to take a potion only minutes ago.

The door opened behind her, and Hermione turned to see Andromeda Tonks walk through in a finely made Healer’s robe. Unlike Madame Pomfrey’s, this had the logo of Saint Mungo’s emblazoned on the breast and was slightly more form-fitting.

Hermione hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Andromeda at the wedding, though from what Harry had told her of the woman, she was a kind, thoughtful, witty woman – and Harry loved her dearly.

“ _Bollocks_.” Harry muttered as Madame Pomfrey moved to speak to the new arrival. Hermione turned and jabbed him in the hip with her finger. “Hey!”

“ _Language_.”

“I hear you’re being a rather stubborn patient.” Andromeda said slowly when she joined the two of them shortly after.

“I would disagree.” Harry sniffed, and suddenly Hermione felt like an intruder in the conversation.

“Oh what grounds?”

“Principle.” Harry muttered, and Hermione could help the quiet giggle that escaped her. Not a moment later, Andromeda’s eyes were upon her, darting between her face and their joined hands – to which she simply smiled lopsidedly. Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Hello dear, I’m not quite sure we’ve been properly introduced. Andromeda Tonks.” Andromeda smiled kindly, offering her hand.

Hermione quickly disentangled her hand from Harry and stood quickly, grasping the offered hand, and trying to ignore how different Andromeda’s hand felt compared to Harry’s. “Hermione Granger – I’ve heard a little about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ Hermione – yes, I think I remember you dancing together at the wedding now. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Hermione didn’t think it was possible for her face to get any warmer – she smiled shyly and quickly glanced at Harry, who was busy running his hands down his face. “Leave her alone, Andromeda – or I’ll tell Dora to walk around with a pig snout for a month.” Harry sighed, levelling his gaze between the two of them.

Andromeda huffed, while Hermione frowned in confusion – no doubt something she would have to ask about later.

“So,” Andromeda said, quickly clasping her hands before her and stepping around to the far side of Harry’s bed. “you have two options.”

“Wonderful.”

“First, you take the potion and get yourself a good night’s sleep.” Andromeda began, ignoring Harry’s comment. Hermione returned to her seat and edged it closer to the bed. “The second, I force the potion down your throat in front of your lovely friend for your own good.”

“Your bedside manner is abysmal.” Harry sighed, before looking between herself and Madame Pomfrey – who had been standing away from the bed slightly. “How long will it knock me out?”

“Until morning.” Madame Pomfrey smiled sadly. “You should feel rested after it though – a few days of it, and if I believe you’ve improved sufficiently, I’ll release you.”

Harry was quiet, and Hermione found herself looking at him imploringly as she took his hand in hers once again, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Can Hermione stay? For a little bit, at least?” Harry asked after a moment.

“I see no reason to deny the request.” Andromeda smiled kindly. “She seems like a very sensible girl.” Despite herself, Hermione found herself sitting a little straighter under the praise.

“She will have to leave after an hour – I’m sure she has more than enough studying to do, but yes – she can stay for a little while.”

“I’ll take the damn potion then.” Harry muttered, and within a heartbeat, Madame Pomfrey had a glass bottle in her hand with a viscous, purple liquid sloshing around slowly with each movement she made.

“I’m proud of you, Harry.” Hermione whispered, just low enough for only Harry to hear it. “You’ll get through this, and I’ll be right here.”

Harry grumbled to himself as he took the potion in his free hand and gulped it down greedily. Once empty, he grimaced and handed the bottle to Andromeda, who was closer than Madame Pomfrey and leaned back into his pillow.

“That was foul.” He muttered drowsily, and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was simply from how tired he really was, or just how potent the potion was. Not a few moments later, Harry was asleep – and he looked exactly how she remembered him after the Troll and Quirrell.

As the two older women began to quietly whisper to one another about Harry – something she only knew because she caught his name – Hermione reached over to one of her books, and pulled out the thick copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ , making sure to keep her hand entwined with Harry as she did so.

She had a tradition to uphold, and nobody would convince her otherwise that it didn’t help Harry.

“Chapter sixty-two,” She began, quietly, as the two witches moved away. “ _Pentaghast’s Penchant for Punishment_. Headmistress Marigold Pentaghast was renowned for her creative detentions…”

* * *

Harry had finally been declared fit to return to his Dorm on the tenth of December, after having spent almost two weeks under Madame Pomfrey’s care, and frankly, Hermione couldn’t have been happier.

Classes had felt empty without her best friend’s presence by her side, and his playful little nudges as the two of them battled for dominance over the desk behind which they sat – though both made sure never to nudge the other when they were writing.

Hermione, along with Neville, Daphne, and Tracey had all arrived a few minutes ago, each sporting small grins as they had joked amongst themselves – Neville playfully teasing Hermione over the last time they’d helped Harry escape the care of Madame Pomfrey, and how exhausted the two boys had been halfway up the staircases.

She had laughed along with the others, despite Neville embellishing certain parts, if only to assuage her worry over Harry. He had been in one of the side rooms getting changed since their arrival, and while it had taken far longer than she had expected, Madame Pomfrey had assured them that he would be fine.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile as the door clicked open and Harry shuffled out in a baggy grey tunic that hung to his mid-thigh, the dark trousers he wore, and his regular boots – he looked better than he had in _weeks_ – already she could see how he held himself straighter, and how his eyes sparkled in the fading light of the day.

“Harry!” Neville grinned, rushing ahead of them all and picking the boy up and giving him a quick spin. “The little wolf is all better!”

“Neville – just got my ribs fixed – please don’t break them again!” Harry groaned, squirming in Neville’s powerful arms – Hermione giggled at the sight.

A year ago, if anyone had told her that she would be _giggling_ of her own accord, she would have given a long list of reasons, with well thought out explanations, as to why such a thing was beneath her, and then promptly hexed them – now, it seemed as natural as breathing around her friends.

“Neville, down boy.” Daphne commanded playfully, her lopsided grin on proud display. Hermione could hear Neville let out a quiet huff as he dropped Harry to the tiled floor, though not sudden enough for him to land on his arse – as funny as Hermione thought that might be.

“But I just got him back!” Neville pouted, folding his arms like a child – Hermione quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

“And you’ll break your favourite toy if you keep it up.” Tracey added with a wink. “Can’t go breaking Potter again – Madame Pomfrey might give him a bed for his sole use.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Madame Pomfrey said, approaching the group with a basket of potions. “You are to drink these each night before bed, Mister Potter.” She said, handing them to him with a look.

“What are they?” Neville asked curiously, eyeing the sloshing purple liquid.

“Potions.” Tracey answered him cheekily, beaming as Neville rolled his eyes at her.

Hermione, of course, knew _exactly_ what they were. Harry’s bones and organs were long-since fixed, despite the lingering tenderness that she knew he felt – it was a side effect of how quickly magic healed a body. While a bone could be knit back together in hours, the body wouldn’t understand it was fixed for, at the very least, several days.

Madame Pomfrey had just handed him two weeks worth of sleeping potions in the guise of the last of his potion routine for his ribs – it was devilishly Slytherin of her, and for the first time in her short tenure at Hogwarts, Hermione found herself wondering just which house the Healer had been a member of.

“Thank you.” Harry sighed, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. “They’ve been a big help.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mister Potter. Now, get on with yourselves – I believe you have a meal to go to, yes?”

Harry nodded, and the Matron walked away to no doubt go about her many other duties within her domain that were not looking after one Harry James Potter – who, in the moments that Madame Pomfrey had disappeared, had quickly closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

Hermione frowned and tilted her head to the side slightly – did Harry feel ill? Dizzy?

She was about to move forward and see if he was alright when Clara burst into the room in a comforting ball of flame. She had made sure to help Neville with caring for Harry’s two Familiars – as much as one _could_ care for a Phoenix – in the time he was under Madame Pomfrey’s care. Neville would spend time with Hedwig in the mornings before class, and Hermione would spend some time with the gorgeous bird in the evenings – usually with her perched on Hermione’s shoulder, attempting to make a nest out of her hair.

Hermione had made sure to continue to take Hedwig to _Care of Familiars_ , to make sure that she got a little bit of time outside that didn’t require her to hunt, and to spoil her rotten. In the last months, Hermione had grown rather attached to the Snowy Owl, and felt all the more excited for the day when she would finally have her own Familiar.

Looking at the Phoenix now, as she nuzzled her hooked beak into Harry’s palm, she couldn’t help but wonder at just what hers would be. Whenever Hermione had sat in Harry’s room with her and Hedwig, she had been quiet and aloof – barely acknowledging her presence, even when she had offered up pieces of meat she’d pilfered from the Great Hall. Hedwig, of course, had greedily eaten what she could.

Sitting in Harry’s room had been strange. She had never seen the interior of his room before – in fact, she had never seen a boy’s room. She had imagined it to be smelly disorganised. What a surprise it had been, to have found a room that was neat and tidy – dare she say even more organised than her own?

She had attempted to curb her curiosity, but when Clara would disappear to hunt in the evenings, Hermione had found herself meandering around the room and taking everything in – making sure not to disturb anything. The large, blank piece of folded parchment on his bedside, and a random piece of broken mirror on top of it had confused her – had he smashed a mirror by accident? It would explain his absolutely rotten luck. The parchment itself had seemed too old to have simply been left there for midnight notes.

The rest of the room had been equally as fascinating – his sword, with its wolf’s head pommel staring down at her with its vacant, onyx eyes as it hung from the wall. Hermione had first noticed his sword in Diagon Alley – who wouldn’t have noticed something like that in a shopping district? She had always meant to ask him about it, but something else would always come up – it was positively maddening.

His armour had also been in his room, arranged on a mannequin stand in the same corner as his sword – the long gambeson with its diamond patterning and small metal studs was something that stood out to her in her memory. She could still see him now, through the crowd, staring at her, with his hair tied back, and his sword on his hip. She hadn’t thought twice about it at the time, but now, with everything that had happened…

Was it possible to persuade the staff to allow Harry to attend classes in his armour? It had looked sturdy and strong enough – _Merlin_ , when Hermione had bought him the leather maintenance kit last Christmas, she had thought it simply an eccentric hobby. To have seen Harry in his armour had been _something_.

There had been his trunk, with the initials of _J.C.P_ engraved proudly on the front – Harry had told her about his trunk last year – a remnant of his father. Even his room in his Dorm had once belonged to the larger-than-life James Potter. No doubt it had helped him feel closer to the man, and Hermione had simply smiled sadly at it.

Hermione had always known Harry was stuck in the shadow of his family’s legacy. How could he not be? He had lost so much for someone that was almost a whole year younger than her. How much tragedy had he experienced over the years? There had been the purge that had been inflicted on his and other families during the Seventies, and then, on top of that, there had been everything from the last year and a half.

She couldn’t imagine the strength it must take for him to face each day with his head held high, and for that alone, he had her eternal respect. To be counted among his friends was a heady experience.

It had been shortly after spotting his trunk, with Hedwig nipping her ear playfully, that she had seen the tapestry hanging on the wall by the window. It had been simply gorgeous, and her fingers had traced it in gentle reverence while the small faces grinned up at her – Sirius had winked rather playfully.

There had been Arcturus, with his confident, subtle smile and twinkling dark eyes. Two names she didn’t recognise were beside his own – _Cassiopeia Rosier née Black_ and _Dorea Potter née Black_. Both women were beautiful, with their dark hair and regal features, but what really set them apart was how they held themselves – Cassiopeia seemed aloof and distant, and Hermione had gotten the distinct impression she had been looked down on, while Dorea had smiled warmly at her and waved kindly.

There had been something about the dark-haired woman – specifically her smile. It was playful, and full of mischief and had a familiar tilt to it that teased at her memory. She couldn’t remember how long she’d stood in front of the tapestry, scratching Hedwig with her finger – though the realisation had struck her like a bucket of cold water.

It was _Harry_ ’s smile!

Once that connection was made, her eyes began to notice other similarities – the colour of his hair, the shape of his face – how much from his grandmother had he inherited, and how much of his grandfather? By all accounts, Harry was supposed to be the spitting image of his father, but for his eyes. What was Potter, and what was Black?

Her eyes had scanned Orion and Walburga Black, Sirius’s parents – Orion was Arcturus’s son, that much was clear, but the sternness of his features made him look so different. His skin was more tanned, and his facial hair was darker, but she could at least see Sirius in him. Walburga had stubbornly refused to look at her – though _why_ she couldn’t say.

In Sirius, she found none of Harry – it seemed the playful, mischievous smile of Harry’s had come from Dorea, and perhaps some other distant relative. In Sirius, she saw the familiar cheekiness that she loved, despite not knowing him nearly as well as her best friend.

Sirius and Remus had been kind to her from the moment they had met at Harry’s bedside. It would have been easy for them to hold her responsible for what had happened to him, and yet, they hadn’t. When Remus had put his arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort a distraught, shaken girl, she had curled into him and wept for almost an hour.

Not once had they asked her what had happened, nor who she was. They simply let her cry into a stranger’s shoulder. Over the two weeks, the three of them had spoken and gotten to know one another somewhat – Sirius had made her laugh more times than she cared to admit, and Remus had a sharp, dry wit that she appreciated.

The last name had surprised her the most – knowing Sirius had no children yet. Seeing Harry grinning up at her, with that same carefree smile that she hadn’t truly seen since before the wedding, she had been reminded once again, of just how _young_ Harry was.

It was a reminder she was experiencing once again as she watched him kneel before his Phoenix and talk quietly to her – a private conversation between the most brilliant boy she knew, and his equally brilliant Familiar. How had she gotten so lucky – to know the people that she knew, and to have the pleasure to experience some of the same things they did?

Something swelled in her chest as she watched him hand the basket to Clara, who took the handle of the basket in her beak before disappearing in a short burst of flame, and get back to his feet – his shoulders were squared, and his chin held proudly. Hermione couldn’t help but nervously fiddle with her fingers where her hands were clasped before her when his gaze fell on her.

“I’m glad to see you up and about, Harry.” She said, a little quickly.

“Not as glad as I am to get out of here, I’ll bet.” Harry smiled – it was small, subtle, but it was there. “Shall we get out of here?” He asked, looking at the group. She nodded with the others and couldn’t help but laugh as Neville hooked his arm around Harry’s neck, muttering something she couldn’t quite hear, but had the two boys chuckling.

No doubt neither would be getting much sleep tonight – something she would be sure to remind them was nobody’s fault but their own.

Tracey hooked her arm through Hermione’s, and before long, it was the five of them walking along the corridors towards the Great Hall almost as if nothing had happened in the last two months.

“So, Granger – what are you doing for Christmas.” Tracey asked, scrunching her nose playfully.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet – Mum and Dad have a conference they have to go to in France.” Hermione sighed with a shrug as she tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “It was all very last minute, apparently.”

“That sounds awful – is there nothing they can do?” Daphne asked, frowning.

“I don’t think so. I’ll probably either go to my Nan’s or stay here.”

“Well, good job that we waited to hear about what you were doing before we made any plans.” Tracey grinned, squeezing her arm.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, her eyes growing so wide, she thought her eyes might just fall out. In fact, the only thing that kept her moving forward was the fact that Tracey had tightened her grip on her arm.

“Well, we _were_ going to invite you to one of our homes – though that would’ve likely either been Féar Glas Hall, or Blackwall. Unless you would prefer to stay at Neville’s castle.” Daphne said with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah – my place is _way_ too small for all of us, and between the three of us, Neville’s gran _terrifies_ me.” Tracey mock-whispered, shuddering at the end, causing both of the girls on either side of her to chuckle. It was moments like this that Hermione had missed the most in the last month.

“I couldn’t _possibly_ -“ She began, only for Daphne to cut her off.

“That’s why we weren’t going to give you a choice, Miss Granger.” She grinned. “Though, with your parents having to go away, I think we’ll all have to stay at the castle – not a chance Neville and Harry would be able to stay if your parents couldn’t come.”

“Why?” Hermione asked dumbly – her parents would have come as well?

“They’re _boys_ , and you’d be there without any family or guardian – it’s _quite_ inappropriate in our society. All sorts of _mischief_ could happen.” Daphne grinned, wiggling her eyebrows playfully.

“Daphne!” She gasped, her cheeks burning as the flush covered her face. Harry and Neville turned to look at the three of them, and Hermione tried her best to hide behind her hand – she was _mortified_!

“Everything alright?” Neville asked, tilting his head over his shoulder.

“Oh, just fine – just talking about Christmas is all!” Tracey smiled, the picture of innocence.

“Uh-huh – what’s the verdict? Harry’s or yours?” He asked, looking to Daphne while Harry just rolled his eyes and gave her a weak shrug.

“Here.” Daphne grinned. “Her parents are going away.”

“Here it is!” Neville nodded before turning back to speak to Harry.

“Honestly, Daphne – you could have been-” Hermione hissed quietly, the heat of her embarrassment in her cheeks. She flailed her free arm wildly between the three of them and the two boys.

“Been what?” Daphne asked, feigning ignorance, her eyes mischievous.

“Less-“ Hermione tried – if her face got any hotter, she wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she broke out into a sweat!

“Less…” Tracey drawled playfully, joining in on the fun.

“ _Crass_!” Hermione managed with a hiss, narrowing her eyes at the two girls, who both broke out into quiet laughter.

“Bless, she’s all flustered!” She grinned, squeezing her arm affectionately. “Just think, you’ll have us for the whole two-week break too!”

“I can’t wait.” Hermione sighed with a roll of her eyes, though she made sure to let her smile break through the exasperated façade she tried to put on – just make sure the two knew she was joking.

* * *

The following day was tense – Colin Creevey had been found in one of the corridors clutching his camera, that the five of them had been seen walking in late hadn’t won them any favours at all, and the looks had continued along with the not-so-subtle whispers.

The meal had been going just about as well as it could have – the Gryffindor team had rushed Harry, abandoning their plates to make sure he was fine. It had been the one positive that had emerged from the Bludger fiasco, for Oliver, Alicia, Angelina, Katie, and the twins had rallied around their fallen Seeker and threatened righteous retribution on whomever had injured him.

Oliver had clapped Harry on the back, never one for overt displays of affection unless he was speaking of Quidditch, while the girls had peppered Harry’s cheeks with kisses – something that still hadn’t settled well with her – and the twins had promised to prank whoever had tampered with the Bludger.

That the five of them knew it had simply been an over-zealous House Elf hadn’t helped to shift the memory of the students in the stands cheering as Harry had been chased all over the pitch – she could still remember some of the snickers from Hufflepuff when Harry had been knocked from his broom.

Harry had accepted it with as much grace as he could, given the circumstances, and the meal had promised to be better than most. Harry had been enjoying a delicious looking venison stew, Neville had opted for a meal of chicken, and she had enjoyed a lovely chicken fajitas with sweet, tangy peppers and onion.

Daphne and Tracey had sat with the rest of Slytherin House, as was expected, though Hermione had noted how everyone around them had shifted away as they sat – it seemed it wasn’t just Harry that was being shunned. Neville and she had experienced their fair amount of bullying – she’d spent an inordinate amount of time fixing her bag, and the amount of books Harry had had to order for the three of them was absurd – she just hadn’t expected Daphne and Tracey to suffer also.

It had started slowly, almost on the edge of her hearing, until it built into a crescendo among the rumbling of the Great Hall and its many, _many_ occupants. It had been so common over the year, that she had initially dismissed it as simply the pipes in the castle. That Harry had suddenly cried out, clutching at his head, and moaning pitifully had settled a heavy, cold feeling in the pit of her stomach – her food had been forgotten _instantly_.

Nothing had struck him, that much she was certain of – she’d made sure to sit next to him and had always kept her eyes on him as he ate, while Neville had watched from across the table. There hadn’t been anyone looking their way, and no sign of anyone pointing a wand.

The quiet groans of discomfort had grown to the point where Harry had been clutching his ears with both of his ears with his hands and tucked his chin into his chest as he rocked back and forth agitatedly. Neville had rushed around the table immediately, and there had been some sort of commotion at the Ravenclaw table with someone in their year – though the girl’s back had been to Hermione at the time, so all she saw was Lisa Turpin and Sue Li leaning over to her.

Professor Cantrill had rushed to Harry’s side in a heartbeat, as had Professor McGonagall – someone had called for Madame Pomfrey, but when Harry had started to complain about how _loud_ it was, and how _painful_ it was to hear, something had clicked in the back of her mind.

Bits and pieces of information from all the way back to the first time she’d ever read _Hogwarts: A History_ , and _The Myths and Legends of the Four Founders_ began to link themselves together in her mind.

The only thing out of place in the Great Hall had been the hissing of the pipes beneath their feet, Harry was complaining about something being too loud, and whatever was attacking the students had _something_ to do with the _Chamber of Secrets_ – the lost domain of Salazar Slytherin himself.

The _Chamber of Secrets_ had been rumoured for _years_ to contain a beast of some kind – Hermione had always assumed it to be some wild exaggerations meant to embellish the tale and add a sense of excitement to it all. But Salazar himself had been a _Parselmouth_ – it had been the last piece of the puzzle that had clicked everything else together.

Salazar’s monster was a _snake_.

An hour later, once Madame Pomfrey had fussed over Harry, who had calmed down at the same time that the hissing of the pipes – or the snake – had stopped, and made sure Lilith Kullens of Ravenclaw was equally fine, one of the Prefects had burst into the Hall, calling for Madame Pomfrey.

Colin Creevey had been found, petrified by the Transfiguration Courtyard. A handful of the staff had dashed from the room, and then someone had accused Harry of attacking him before arriving. To see Gryffindors rally around them, even if it was only the Quidditch team, had been the best thing she’d seen all year – after seeing Harry out of the bed, of course.

It had been as she and Neville had helped Harry back to Gryffindor Tower that she’d experienced her second revelation – if Harry had heard the snake, so had Lilith Kullens.

Harry wasn’t the only Parselmouth at Hogwarts.

That Harry wasn’t alone had been the only thing that had helped calm her during the night as she stared at the canopy of her bed. At some point, Hermione had fallen asleep, clutching her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ tightly to her – the chapter on the Founders still open, with not even a crease to the paper.

She had gotten up, dressed, and made her way down to the Common Room at the same time as Neville and Harry. Seeing Harry standing before her, in his usual dark doublet and looking as pristine as he usually did, had made her almost _giddy_ , which had been a strange experience in and of itself. Hermione had never considered herself the type of girl who got giddy over, well, anything.

But seeing him before her, with his hair tied back, and his doublet hugging his figure – he looked _just_ like something out of one of her stories.

The three of them had quickly meandered down to the Great Hall, and before they knew it, they were eating their breakfast, waiting on the morning mail. Hermione had helped herself to a bowl of fruit, as had Harry, and Neville was busy inhaling a bowl of porridge.

“It’s quiet this morning.” Harry said slowly, turning his head this way and that.

“It’s a Sunday.” Hermione shrugged easily. “After last night and the whole thing with Colin, I’m not surprised so few of us are down here.”

It was true – the hall barely had more than a dozen other students that were up and about. Some were reading the _Prophet_ , or other, similar publications, or were too busy putting food into their mouths, their heads only held up by the hands they leaned on.

“It’s a shit thing that happened to Colin.” Neville muttered, swallowing a mouthful of porridge. “I liked him.”

“He’s hardly _dead_.” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “Un-petrifying someone requires extremely fresh Mandrakes – you can’t just order something like that. They have to be grown and matured on-site.”

“Aye – Professor Sprout has me helping her manage them. We’ve got a class on them coming up after Christmas, by the way.” Neville nodded, spooning a little more honey into his bowl.

“We passed him in the corridor.” Harry sighed from next to her, running his hand down his face tiredly.

“We couldn’t have done anything, Harry – we didn’t know.” She said, grasping his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiled slightly at her before turning to the entrance – a surprised look on his face.

She turned to follow his gaze, and grinned at the sight of Daphne and Tracey, both striding purposefully to their table and sitting down opposite the two of them – each on either side of Neville, who glanced between the two girls cautiously as he held his bowl protectively.

“I didn’t think the two of you would be up yet.” Harry chuckled, his eyes darting between the two Slytherins.

“Aye – Daphne needs at least two hours for her _bloody_ hai- Ow!” Neville grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he scowled at the girl next to him, who just looked at him archly.

“Oh, that wasn’t me. It was Tracey. _This_ was me.” She said, cuffing Neville over the back of the head as he placed the spoon in his mouth. Hermione stifled a giggle behind her hand, while Harry chuckled happily at her side.

She’d missed _this_ in her mornings.

“Did we miss the mail?” Tracey yawned into the back of her hand as she stretched, groaning happily as she let her arms fall to rest on the table.

“Not yet, you _bloody_ brutes – can’t even eat in peace without being assaulted…” Neville mumbled into his bowl, while the two girls simply grinned.

“I’ll write to my parents about staying at the castle for Christmas – they’ll be disappointed, but they’ll have Astoria.” Daphne shrugged, as the others nodded around her – Hermione could feel the sting of tears again, and she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her fingers.

“You don’t have to…” She tried, only to be waved off.

“If it’s between you and that _bloody_ fox, it’s you _every_ time.” Daphne muttered, her eyes narrowing at a spot on the table so intensely, for a moment, Hermione was sure the table would burst into flames.

“I thought he was rather handsome.” Tracey replied with a cheeky grin. “His little bow-tie was just to _die_ for.”

“He didn’t chew through your dress.” Daphne replied with a huff as she pilfered a red apple from the middle of the table.

“Which one?”

“The burgundy one I showed you at the end of the year.” Daphne sighed, taking a chunk out of her apple.

“It must have been terrible.” Hermione murmured, absently pushing the fruit slices around on her plate. “Did Astoria at least apologise?”

“Oh aye – she apologised, but the girl is a menace.” Daphne snorted after swallowing her mouthful.

“She’s lovely.” Harry quietly chimed in, chuckling to himself.

“Aye – she could do no wrong as far as you’re concerned.” The Greengrass heir scowled across the table, though it quickly morphed into a playful smirk. “It’s okay, we still accept you – flaws and all.”

“Flaws?”

“Oh yes – you’re wrapped around Astoria’s finger, after all. It’s alright, I won’t hold it against you.” Daphne winked, propping her elbows on the table.

“No _bloody_ peace…” Neville muttered, only to be slapped on the arms by the girls either side of him. At her side, Harry chuckled and returned to his food while other students slowly filtered into the room.

“Tracey,” Hermione began, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. The girl looked up from her food and swallowed, her eyes wide and curious. “You’re the best with animals out of us, right?”

“I mean, I guess?” She replied, frowning a little. “Though you probably know more than me.” Tracey added, shrugging a single shoulder.

The eyes of the group were on her. She glanced around the Gryffindor table, finding an acceptable distance between themselves and the next students. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I think I know what’s attacking the students.”

Harry grew still beside her, and she glanced at him and worried at her bottom lip.

“You do? What is it?” Neville asked, his voice shockingly soft – so much so, that it took Hermione a moment to realise it was the same boisterous boy she knew.

“It’s a snake of some kind.” She answered quietly, holding her hands up as everyone sat back in shock. “Think about it – this isn’t the first time Harry’s mentioned hearing a voice before an attack, and all I could hear besides the other students in the hall last night was the _hissing_ of the pipes!”

Daphne pursed her lips in thought, her chin propped on her hand and a finger tapping her cheek idly. “It would make sense, I suppose.” She said slowly. “But it sounds like a coincidence.”

“I-“ She began, her pride refusing to let that one slide, only for Daphne to hold up a hand.

“I’m not saying it _is_ , I’m saying that’s what it looks like from the outside – we have to be careful about this.”

“Why? If we can prove it, then Harry’s clearly innocent!” Tracey said, bouncing in her seat a little – was that what she looked like when she was excited about something?

“What does the voice you hear say, Harry?” Daphne asked, turning her arctic blue eyes on the boy next to her. Hermione turned to look at him, and saw the pained expression on his face, and the way his fists were clenched on the table. She placed her hand over his and watched as the tension left his shoulders.

“It’s called _Ruhxu_ , apparently.” He muttered, running his free hand down his face. “It started clear enough, but each time I’ve heard it since, it sounds…” He paused, grimacing. “ _Different_.”

“In what way?” She asked, her thumb moving back and forth along the back of his hand slowly. She tried not to think about how soft it was compared to how rough his palms were.

He shrugged, and his eyes swept the four of them. “The first time I heard it, I was with Lockhart – it spoke like the snakes at _Magical Menagerie_ – last night though, I don’t know – it sounded like it was in pain.”

“In pain?” Neville grimaced, shifting in his seat. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“Why?” Daphne asked, frowning as she turned to look at him. “If it’s in pain, it might stop the attacks, or it could even die on its own if it’s bad enough.”

Neville shook his head fervently. “No – it’d be more likely to lash out and get angry. You see it with cornered animals a lot. For all we know, that’s why it killed Justin.”

“I didn’t hear it with Justin – I might have-“

“No, stop right there, Harry.” She snapped, squeezing his hand. “For all we know, if you’d have gone chasing after it, it could have killed you too!” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them again. “All we know, is that it’s a snake, and people are being petrified – we don’t know any more than-“

“Oh _Merlin_!” Tracey gasped; her eyes wide as she sat up suddenly. Hermione snapped her jaw closed and looked at her, startled. Tracey looked around at the four of them as her face paled. “There’s only one snake that can do that – there’s a _bloody_ _Basilisk_ in the castle!” She hissed.

“ _Impossible_ – they’re illegal!” Neville whispered furiously. “Have been for centuries – who would be stupid enough to bring on here?”

“ _What_ is a Basilisk, and why are they illegal?” She asked, shifting in her seat a little closer to Harry – without realising, she pressed her thigh against his own. She glanced at him briefly as she fought the blush that was slowly creeping up her neck before quickly focusing on the matter at hand.

“They’re a snake – the most dangerous in the world.” Tracey began, reaching for a bag that Hermione hadn’t even noticed she’d brought with her. She reached inside it and began muttering under her breath before grinning and pulling out a well-worn volume of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ as if it were the House Cup.

Hermione jolted as the heavy tomb impacted the table with a dull thud, and Tracey began to quickly flick through pages. “Here,” Tracey began, pointing to a terrifying depiction of a truly monstrous snake. It had reared back, the two rows of terrifyingly sharp spikes along its back quite prominent, while it’s open, tooth-filled maw was gaping toward the reader. Its hauntingly orange eyes stared right through her. “Newt Scamander included a page on Basilisk’s in _Fantastic Beasts_.”

“ _Bloody Hell_ , that thing is terrifying.” Neville murmured. “Look at its teeth!”

“And those spikes on its back.” Daphne added.

“I’m most concerned about the eyes.” Harry muttered, running a hand down his face. “They can kill with a single look – and there’s one _here_?”

“I think so.” Tracey nodded, wetting her lips anxiously. “There hasn’t been a sighting in Britain for hundreds of years – though, there aren’t usually many survivors, all things considered.”

Daphne snorted.

“The important thing is, we know how big they get, and we can just alert the Aurors.” Tracey sighed, and Hermione nodded her agreement.

“You can let Amelia know, and she could have Aurors down here in no time at all – you said yourself, a few days ago, that Amelia’s already investigating this.” She said, turning to look at Harry.

“I did, but there’s a problem – we don’t know _where_ the snake is.”

“I would guess the _Chamber of Secrets_?” Neville said, shifting in his seat. “Clara could take them, right?”

“Aye – possibly.” Harry nodded slowly. “Or, it could be a similar chamber to the one we were in last year. _Or_ , it could be protected by Wards _against_ Phoenixes – you _know_ I can’t risk Clara like that. Not to mention, how would they get reinforcements if they need them? How large is the space down there?” He asked, and Hermione had to admit – he raised good points. “There’s too many uncertainties, and we have nothing besides a theory right now – a good theory,” He added, holding his hand up as Tracey went to say something. “But a theory nonetheless.”

“But what if it attacks someone else?” Hermione asked, worrying at her bottom lip. “There’s been one thing in common so far – everyone has been a _Muggle-Born_. There aren’t that many of us in the school as it is.”

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Hermione.” Neville nodded resolutely, and Harry squeezed her hand.

“Anyone, or any _thing_ that attacks you, has to deal with us.” Harry smiled, pointing at the group. Hermione couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her lips – she could always count on her friends.

“I think we should find the Chamber ourselves.” Neville declared, slapping the wood of the table as he leaned back. Hermione blinked rapidly, confused – why would they go _looking_ for the creature attacking people like her?

“Are you _mad_?” Harry scowled, leaning forward, and glaring at the boy across from them. “It’s basically a myth, and not to mention Tracey here,” He paused, waving between the girl and the book on the table. “just told us there’s a chance there’s a _bloody_ _Basilisk_ in there!”

“Aye, but _think_ about it, Harry!” Neville replied, his voice low as other students filtered into the hall. Hermione watched them all pass with a careful eye – most looked as if they had just gotten out of bed, their hair sticking up in all directions. Well, the boys did. “If Amelia brings the Aurors like Tracey said, you _know_ she’ll shut the school down until it’s found.”

Hermione gasped. “She wouldn’t!” She cried, her breath coming in quick, short bursts as the panic began to settle deep in her gut – her breath caught in her throat, and she hiccupped painfully as her stomach lurched.

“She would – we’d all have to go home, or possibly, find a new school.” Neville nodded solemnly. “A Basilisk isn’t a trivial thing, Hermione – it’s arguably more dangerous than a _Dragon_. The Aurors would tear the school down brick-by-brick if they had to.”

She felt Harry wrap an arm around her shoulders as he pulled her body against his own. She wrapped her arms around his chest as she sniffled into his doublet. Hogwarts was _everything_ to her – it was the start of her new life, a life where she _fit in_ , where she had _friends_. While the last year had been trying and had seen her tested on more than one occasion, there was nowhere she loved being more. To think that she could be forced to study somewhere _else_ … The thought was horrifying.

“Shut your mouth, Longbottom.” Harry growled above her. “You know how much she loves this place.”

“I do – we _all_ love it, but Harry, you know as well as I what they’ll do to this place.”

“I don’t want to see it torn down either.” Tracey added, and Hermione gave one last pitiful sniff as she let go of Harry. She hadn’t cried, at least, and the tightness was still there in her chest, but she could push through it. She fought the urge to hug him again as he gave her one last squeeze. “I love this place.”

“I don’t want to see it ransacked by Aurors either, but it’s the most _stupid_ -“

“Irresponsible.” Daphne added casually, as if she were discussing the weather.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry nodded. “thing you’ve suggested in _years_.”

“I think we could do it.” Neville huffed, folding his arms over his chest.

“You can’t even get into the Slytherin Common Room – that’s where everyone thinks it is!” Harry cried, flinging his arms in the air in exasperation.

“We could do it!” Neville replied, “We have Daphne and Tracey – Tracey’s scary good with animals, and Daphne’s, well, she’s scary.”

“Thanks, Longbottom.” Daphne muttered, rolling her eyes.

“We’ve got you, the smartest _bloody_ witch I’ve ever met, and me!”

“Harry’s the charming one – which are you?” Hermione asked, not able to help herself.

“The comedic relief.” Daphne snorted, causing them all to break into a round of snickers, while Neville pouted.

“I’m serious – we could genuinely do it.”

“I do hope you’re not planning on anything untoward.” Came a voice from behind her. Hermione squeaked and jumped at the suddenness of the interruption as she spun in her seat, her hands clutched to her chest. Standing behind them, with a playful smirk was Professor Dots.

“Of course not, sir – we leave that for the twins.” Neville grinned, and Hermione grimaced – their last prank still had the corridor outside Professor Snape’s classroom smelling of garlic.

“Indeed.” The professor winked, before turning to Harry. “Mister Potter, could you accompany me to my office? I have someone I’d like you to meet – sent on behalf of one Arcturus Black.”

“ _Arcturus_?” Harry gasped, blinking. He paused and looked at them all, and Hermione gave him her most encouraging smile.

“Go on, Harry – we’ll find you later.”

He grinned, nodded and was on his feet in no time at all, matching Professor Dot’s pace effortlessly as they turned from the entrance to the hall and disappeared from view.

* * *

As Hermione roused herself from her slumber – something that caused her to pout involuntarily as the sunlight filtered through her window – she stretched her body, feeling the muscles in her thighs tremble pleasantly as her back arched.

The last weeks had been hectic – if they hadn’t been in classes, they had been scouring the library for any hint or clue as to the location of the _Chamber of Secrets_. There had been references through a number of volumes about all of the Founders, but very little that was substantial when it came to Salazar himself.

She rolled over, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand as she took in the various open books around her on the bed. Some were closed, others had a bookmark of some kind sticking out of them, but the largest of them all – her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ – was proudly opened on the last page she had been reading.

Pushing herself up, she wiped the little bit of drool that had pooled in the corner of her mouth and stretched again, grimacing as the cool air from the room ghosted over the little bit of her stomach that was exposed by the action – no matter how many warming charms she placed about the room, it was never warm enough in a morning. It was practically _criminal_.

The soft bark of Hedwig on her windowsill made her grin as she swung her legs out of the covers, her feet padding softly against the mahogany floorboards as she moved to fuss the gorgeous bird. Hedwig preened under her touch, blissfully closing her eyes, and fluttering her wings – it was no surprise that her room was cold if she’d left the window open enough for Hedwig to squeeze through.

“Hello you.” She cooed softly as she scratched the Owl under the chin. “Did you have a good hunt? Catch any juicy mice?”

Hedwig barked once and stood a little taller, her tiny chest puffing out ever so slightly, but enough to make Hermione giggle.

“Well, aren’t you just the smartest Owl there was.” Hermione grinned, tapping Hedwig lightly on her beak, which earned her a gentle nip. She had grown quite close with Harry’s Familiar – especially in the time when he had been stuck in the Hospital Wing.

Hedwig had become melancholy in his absence, and there was more than once Hermione had stopped the loyal bird trying to fly toward an open window of the wing after _Care of Familiars_ with Hagrid. Madame Pomfrey had made it _very_ clear what she thought of animals in her domain – not even _Sirius_ was allowed to transform.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” Hermione muttered, holding her arm out for the bird to hop onto. Hedwig mounted her arm carefully, her sharp talons keeping a firm grip, but not enough to pierce her skin – she really was quite a considerable bird.

Hermione quickly carried Hedwig to her desk and poured her a small goblet of water from the jug that was always left topped up each morning – those House Elves Hogwarts employed were really fantastic.

As she quickly moved about her room, gathering her toiletries and articles of clothing – it was Christmas Day, so a big, fluffy jumper was _definitely_ in order. Though, the lack of snow outside was a disappointment.

She went through her morning routine in peace – her Dorm-mates, Lavender, Parvati, and Lauren had all returned home for the holiday to spend time with their families. Lauren had made a conscious effort to know her, and unlike Lavender and Parvati, she hadn’t initially brushed off her desire to learn, for which she was grateful.

Lavender was an energetic girl, something Hermione could understand – but she was a level of extroverted that she just couldn’t wrap her head around. She liked the girl, and her only real qualm was the sheer amount of _gossiping_ her and Parvati took part in.

Parvati seemed the polar opposite of her sister Padma – an extremely smart witch in Ravenclaw with an insatiable hunger for knowledge. Something she could relate to – after all, there was just _so much_ to learn. Parvati, in comparison, was much the same as Lavender. A nice girl, if rather loud and _giggly_.

Lauren seemed to be the quietest of the lot – the only one of the four of them that came from an Ancient and Most Noble House, House Calvert, to be precise. Lauren had told them all a handful of things of her life, and to Hermione, especially upon first arriving at Hogwarts, it had all sounded rather fanciful.

Now, after everything she knew from her friendships with Harry, Neville, and Daphne – it sounded dreadfully oppressive.

She shook the thoughts of her fellow classmates from her mind as she dried her hair using the same spells that Daphne had taught her over the Summer – for the first time since she could remember, her hair was _tame_ and fell in soft curls over her shoulders. She smiled and nodded her head – she’d put more effort into her appearance this year, and she was glad for it.

A year ago, she would have railed against the thought of needing to tame her hair – it simply wasn’t important. She had wanted people to appreciate her intelligence and her mind, rather than what dress she wore, or how she’d brushed her hair. Daphne and Tracey had shown her that people could still take pride in their intelligence and wit while taking pride in their appearance.

It was a weapon, Daphne had said, to use her appearance to throw someone off balance. Hermione had protested the very patriarchal concepts of the Wizarding World when Daphne had explained some of the finer details to her, and the thought that she would be looked down on, simply for her _gender_ infuriated her. It seemed only right that she could strike back in some fashion.

Her mother had been overjoyed to see her brushing her hair, of course.

Perhaps, in the years to come, people would notice her in _other_ ways too. She wasn’t blind – there were many boys and girls all through the years dating people. Some girls dated girls, some boys dated boys, and some dated their opposite – it didn’t matter to Hermione, what people did in private was no business of hers; a sentiment that most of the students shared. At least there was something that witches and wizards handled better than the Muggles.

But she was still a girl who had grown up reading tales of gallant men that had rescued their princess and fought for their honour. She had devoured literature all throughout her life, each of the characters becoming her friends, filling the void where her peer’s absence always lingered.

How many couples had she read of throughout her years buried in books? Aragon and Arwen, Paris and Helen, Bennet and Darcy, Butler and O'Hara, Eyre and Rochester? While none of those relationships were what she would call _perfect_ , or even something to really aspire to – there were faults with every relationship, of course – it spoke to a part of her that yearned to be considered _pretty_ and the object of someone’s affections that _weren’t_ her parents.

Besides, what teenage girl hadn’t considered their first kiss?

The more she had considered it over the last months, the more she hoped that perhaps, someday, it may very well be _Harry_. She’d caught herself drifting – many times – into thoughts of those powerful eyes of his lighting up when he saw her, of him holding her hand, and visiting Hogsmeade together.

She blew a breath out of her nose as she regarded herself in the mirror of the bathroom and pursed her lips in thought. Perhaps it hadn’t been worth the effort to make herself look put together before heading to meet with the others, but she’d wanted to do it just as much for herself as to possibly catch Harry’s eye – though, that seemed even more doomed ever since he’d met his tutor.

She was all he could talk about for the last two weeks, and while she could help but simply bask in his joy, there came a point where it began to wear on her. She was older, of course, in her mid-twenties by Hermione’s guess, with dark brown and blonde ombre hair.

Hermione knew, logically, she had no reason to be jealous – after all, Micca Valencia was simply hired to instruct Harry in his Parselmouth abilities – but how could she _not_ be? Micca was a confident, attractive woman of Filipino heritage if her smooth, pale complexion had been anything to go by – something that Hermione had thought had only added to the grace by which she held herself. It hadn’t been until the following evening that Harry had mentioned the Valencia family – an old Noble family whose lands were on the eastern coast of Scotland.

Honestly, how could she, plain, _Muggle-born_ Hermione Granger compete with _that_?

She huffed, halting her tumultuous thoughts – Harry wasn’t like that, she _knew_ that. Harry didn’t care for blood or social standing. He cared about a person’s _character_ , and he’d already remarked a handful of times that he thought her _pretty_. That, for now, was enough for her. Perhaps, as the years went on, she could be more overt in her affections – if they even remained. Her parents had each dated many people before meeting one another after all – logically, it made sense.

She nodded to herself and hurried from her Dorm, making sure to close it quietly behind her. It wouldn’t do to wake Hedwig if she’d drifted off to sleep.

Skipping down the stairs, she couldn’t help but note just how quiet it was in the Tower with most, if not _all_ the students gone for the holidays. It made her a little sad, knowing that no doubt more had gone home this year with the whole business with Harry and the attacks. In the end though, it wouldn’t matter – they would find the _Chamber of Secrets_ and clear Harry’s name.

Harry and Neville were standing waiting for her by the tree, each looking expectantly up at her with small grins and an armful of wrapped gifts each.

“Anyone would think you were taking your time, Granger.” Neville called, grinning widely as she came to an excited stop before the two boys.

“I like the jumper.” Harry smiled, and Hermione couldn’t help the little flush that heated her cheeks pleasantly.

She looked down at it. “You do? It was a present from my Dad.”

It was true – her father had sent it to her a week ago specifically for Christmas. He claimed there was nothing more festive than a large, baggy Christmas jumper. She would have preferred it without the large Reindeer on the front and the garish festive colours, but it helped her to feel closer to her parents. It was also _incredibly_ soft.

“I do.” Harry nodded, shifting the weight in his arms.

“I like your outfit – both of you. It’s very _you_.” Hermione snickered as both boys rolled their eyes – both wore their usual doublets, though she shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Come on Granger, get your gifts – we’re already late.” Neville sighed, nudging her with his foot. Her laughter continued as she gathered the gifts up that were addressed to her – the only ones left under the tree before following both the boys out of the Common Room.

It had been arranged between the five of them that they would spend Christmas together and enjoy every second of it. To that extent, they had agreed to open their gifts as a group in one of the many empty classrooms on the second floor.

By the time they arrived, their journey having been in comfortable silence, Daphne and Tracey were already there, sitting in the middle of the floor on a large blanket with a handful of cushions arranged haphazardly.

“We’d thought you’d gotten lost!” Tracey called, waving them over.

“Did Longbottom have to spend all morning on his hair?” Daphne asked, arching her brow.

“Hey!”

“Oh, quiet Neville – with the rate your hair’s growing, you’ll be as pretty as Harry soon.” She replied, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not _pretty_.” Harry sighed, lowering himself and his armful of gifts to the floor across from the two girls.

“Yes you are.” The four of them answered him, and Hermione couldn’t help the snicker at his exasperated look.

“Come on, I want to see what you all got!”

“Hold on Tracey, we only just got here.”

“Well if you hadn’t been doing your hair-“

“It’s my fault, sorry – I was fussing Hedwig and lost track of time.” Hermione said quickly, cutting the argument off and saving Neville a teasing.

“Hedwig was with you?” Harry asked, his head tilting to the left curiously – it was one of his little habits. That, and the way he would frown when thinking on something important.

“She visits me in the mornings sometimes.” She replied, shrugging a shoulder. “I really don’t mind, though I think I might spoil her rotten if given the chance.”

“You’d have to get in line behind Harry for that. Spoils his girls rotten, he does.” Neville snorted as he stretched his legs on the blanket.

“Wrapped around their talons, he is.” Tracey nodded. “Though, if _I_ had a Phoenix…”

“There’s no telling what mischief you’d get up to.” Daphne cut in before picking up her first gift. “Now, presents!”

They all nodded to one another before setting off on their gifts. They fell into a comfortable routine of shredding wrapping paper and cooing over various items.

Hermione’s parents had sent her a number of books she’d been hoping for, and a box of Cadbury’s chocolates that felt rather full – while her parents were dentists, that didn’t mean she lacked a sweet tooth.

Her other relations got her various books, toiletries, tops, trousers and skirts and the like – things she was used to and had come to expect with each year.

Daphne’s had been such a shock that she had audibly gasped and dropped it back among the wrapping paper – a gorgeous slate blue sleeveless number with an intricate, shimmering pattern around the bodice.

“Daphne – these are _gemstones_!” Hermione gasped, her fingers tracing the tiny rocks with a shaky finger.

“Aye, white zircon.” Daphne beamed. “Do you like it? _Merlin_ , you’ve no idea how hard it was to keep it a secret!”

“I love it, but the gems-“ Hermione blinked, her vision growing blurry at the edges and her bottom lip trembled slightly. “Daphne, you really shouldn’t have!”

“Oh, nonsense – I’m allowed to spoil you rotten, Granger.” Daphne grinned as she leaned over and pulled her into a hug. Hermione wrapped her arms around the other girl and gave her a quick squeeze. When they separated, she couldn’t help but laugh as she dabbed at her eyes.

“Thank you.” She murmured, smiling at the witch across from her.

The second gift she had opened was a small set of jewellery from Tracey that complimented the dress perfectly – the necklace was a thin chain that held a beautiful interwoven piece of silver that dipped into a beautiful V-shape, where a small, pale tear-drop shaped sapphire hung elegantly. The earrings were simple, unassuming silver teardrops. They were beautiful.

“Oh my!” She gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

“You got them for her?” Daphne asked, turning to look at the brunette.

“You bet.” Tracey grinned triumphantly as Hermione looked at her with wide eyes.

“They’re beautiful!” She murmured, placing her hand over her heart.

“Do you want to wear them?” Harry asked from beside her. She nodded shyly, earning a chuckle.

She quickly moved her hair out of the way as Harry got to his knees behind her, gently clasping the necklace and letting it rest over her jumper. It didn’t hang as low as she thought it would, the silver V’s highest points just brushing her collarbone.

“I’m glad you like them.” Tracey grinned. “You can give me one of those hugs when we get out of here.” She added with a wink.

Hermione nodded quickly and quickly put the earrings in before moving on to Neville’s gift.

She knew what it would be without even having to look at it, for he had only wrapped the bottom half. For all of his larger-than-life personality, something which she thought incredibly endearing, Neville was a gentle giant when it came to plants.

It wasn’t a large plant, nor did it even appear to be magical – but it smelled _divine_. Its little white star-like petals were in perfect bloom and standing out beautifully against the thick, waxy leaves.

“It’s an Evergreen Jasmine.” Neville smiled at her. “I know you love your Muggle roots, so I thought I’d give you something that would remind you of it.” He shrugged.

“Thank you Neville – it’ll go on my bedside the moment we get back up there.” She grinned, carefully putting it down, making sure to not jostle the leaves too much.

Her last gift was from Harry – it was small, thin and definitely seemed like it was some sort of container underneath the wrapping paper. She unwrapped it carefully to reveal a gorgeous, deep purple, velvet box – no longer than the distance between her wrist and the tip of her middle finger, and only a few centimetres wide.

At her side, she could feel Harry’s eyes on her as she opened the lid, the tiny hinges not making a sound as she looked on the impossibly detailed piece of silver inside.

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth hung open dumbly as she picked it up gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. It was styled almost like a Muggle Fountain Pen that she’d seen her mother use on occasion when working on paperwork from the practice. Intricately carved wolves were frozen mid-stride all around it. Her fingers traced the detailing.

“Harry – is that what I _think_ it is?” Tracey gasped, scrambling closer.

“Mithril, aye.” Harry smiled, and if it were possible, Hermione’s eyes grew larger. She spun to look at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “It’s a metal quill – I’ve seen how often you work yours blunt. You’ll never need another quill again.” He added.

“ _Merlin’s balls_ , Harry, I could buy my parents a _house_ for how much that’s worth.” Tracey breathed, inching to get a better look at it. “Where did you find it?”

“Rosestone – I had Sirius go hunting for something from there, and when he mentioned what he found, I thought it perfect.”

“No wonder, it’s covered in wolves.” Daphne snickered, rolling her eyes playfully. “You Potters just can’t help yourselves.”

“And a Stallion is better?” Neville asked, arching his brow at the Greengrass heir.

“We’re far more graceful.” She sniffed, turning her nose up just that little bit higher before turning to grin at her. “I’m glad to see my lessons on gift-giving over the years has improved.” She winked at her, playfully. “He was ever so dreadful when we were younger. Tried to give me a book on Merlin once.”

“Hey, it was well meant!” Harry protested, while Hermione looked between the two of them.

“He was a miserable old codger.” Daphne harumphed, folding her arms over her chest. “We women know these things.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry nodded dryly, and Hermione couldn’t repress the small giggle that escaped her. Harry turned to look at her, his eyes soft. “Do you like it? I know how much Mithril can be, but I wanted you to-“

“Potter. Rambling.” Tracey coughed into her fist, causing Neville and Daphne to devolve into a bout of merry laughter, while Harry flushed red.

“I love it, Harry, but it’s too much!”

“Nonsense – I’ve been incredibly lucky in life, in many ways. Let me treat those I care about every now and then.” He grinned, his eyes darting to her fingers as she turned the quill over gently.

“Alright, but next year we’re putting a limit on things so you don’t show us all up.” She replied, arching her brow as she fixed him with a look. “Seriously, thank you Harry, everyone – I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“Here’s to a lifetime more of them.” Neville added, grinning as everyone agreed. As she placed the quill back in its box, Hermione’s eyes darted over to Harry and caught him looking in her direction with that small smile of his – the one that made his eyes crinkle in the corners and made him look more his age, while his fingers traced the book on British Heraldry almost reverently.

Yes, definitely her best Christmas yet.


	30. Arcturus VI

Melania smiled as she stood before him, her long dark hair falling in loose ringlets over her left shoulder and trailing down her front teasingly. She wore that dress that he adored her in – it was black and left her shoulders bare, silver thread was woven into it, creating a gorgeous pattern that wrapped around the bodice before trailing into the folds of the skirt.

He got to his feet slowly, her delicate hand trailing up his arm slowly before coming to a rest on his shoulder while her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping the strands around her fingers while the other came up to graze his jaw slowly.

Breathing in deeply, he kissed the palm of her hand and inhaled her scent – it was jasmine, her favourite. She giggled as his beard tickled her hand, and he couldn’t help the cheeky grin as he lunged at her, wrapping his arms about her and peppering her neck with soft kisses.

She arched into him, standing on her toes as she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands remained on her sides, the pads of his thumbs gently stroking back and forth across the silk of the bodice.

“I’ve missed you.” He breathed, trailing kisses along her bare shoulder. Her skin was smooth and looked like porcelain – with nary a blemish to be found.

“And I you – you’re here to stay, yes?” She asked, her voice hopeful and excited all in one. He picked her up, the feel of her thighs in his hands as they found themselves on either side of his hips was a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d missed.

“Aye, I’m here to stay – I’ll not leave you again.” He whispered back, resting his forehead against her own. He felt her ankles lock and laughed as he carried her to the closest room, her squealing laughter echoing off of the dark walls of Blackwall merrily.

“Arcturus!” She cried, slapping his shoulder. “What if Orion comes in?”

“Then he’ll see me greeting my wife, whom I have loved and missed dearly.” He replied, placing her on the edge of a varnished table – it was carved with a disgusting number of snakes by some ancestor or another and he’d never used it once in his life.

“You’re incorrigible!” She sighed, capturing his lips with her own. She was soft, and she tasted of strawberries. Her breath hitched against him as his hands ghosted along the skin on either side of her neck, the pads of his thumbs whispering above the skin on her cheeks.

Her tongue darted across his lips, and before he knew it, the kiss had deepened, the hunger and the longing that had been present for all these years, but pushed aside for the sake of _duty_ , finally rearing its head. Arcturus grinned as he pulled away – her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed and her lips plump and swollen as her chest heaved with every breath.

“I missed you, wife.”

“And I missed you, dearest husband.” She murmured, her hands roaming over the thick gambeson he still wore, battered and torn from the last battles of the war. Grindelwald may have been defeated, but his armies hadn’t given up on his dream – it had been a long and bloody affair.

“Do you regret it?” He asked after a moment, his gaze darting to her eyes – those beautiful hazel eyes that he had first fallen in love with the moment he had seen them.

“No regrets.” She answered, licking her lips as she pulled him against her. His hands explored her familiar body, his right sliding up beneath her dress as he traced the contours of her thigh. How many times had he dreamed of feeling the softness of her skin again, of losing himself in her embrace and her body? Some nights, it had been all that had kept him going – the promise of beautiful Melania waiting for him. He’d carried a photograph of her with him into every battle, tucked tightly between his tunic and gambeson over his heart.

He had prayed, fervently so, to Koris in the hope that he would be blessed with enough luck to survive each curse, hex, and jinx that had been thrown his way. He had watched as countless friends and allies had been struck down, blown to pieces, or tortured into oblivion – and yet, here he was.

The battles had left him damaged, of course, but he was _alive_. He was home, in the arms of the woman he loved, and there was no place he’d rather be.

She moaned into his mouth as his hand ghosted over the swell of her breast, her back arching slightly before she pulled away. “We can’t.” She breathed, her eyes darting to the door. “Orion should be arriving any minute, and I’ll not have him see his mother and father _indecent_ on top of a table,” She paused, levelling him with _The Look_. “No matter how many times you’ve wanted to over the years.”

“It may as well get _some_ use.” He snorted, giving her thigh one last teasing squeeze before removing his hand. “How has he been?” He asked, quietly. The kiss he placed on the tip of her nose causing her to scrunch it adorably.

“He gets worse with each year he goes off to that school.” She sighed, resting her head against his chest. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’ll be alright – you said he was sorted into Slytherin?” He said, running his hands through her thick hair – was there nothing about this woman that _wasn’t_ perfect? How had he gotten to be so lucky?

“He was – he made Prefect this year.” She said, looking up at him – her eyelashes fluttered close as his fingertips trailed along her scalp softly. “Dippet is apparently considering him for Head Boy.”

“I trust that he earned it, and that he wasn’t handed it simply because of his name?” He asked, arching his brow. He smiled when Melania shook her head slowly and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Then perhaps Dippet isn’t the fool I thought him to be all these years.”

“Oh, he’s still a fool – he panders to the families. Rumour has it that Dumbledore will be returning to Hogwarts now that the war is over – it _is_ over, right?”

“Aye, it’s over.”

“Good.” She breathed, squeezing him to her tightly. “Never leave me again – I was lost without you.”

“And I you.” He whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I took you everywhere with me.”

“You did?” She asked, cocking a brow up at him – her lips pursed in amusement. “And how, pray tell, did you manage that?”

He smirked as he reached into the gap between his gambeson and tunic, the small piece of enchanted parchment rustling with every movement he made. Her eyes tracked it carefully – its yellowed colouring, frayed edges and many, many creases. He unfolded it slowly, turning it around in his fingers and holding it before her eyes with a grin.

“Arcturus!” She cried, her hands leaping to her mouth. “You _bloody_ arse!” She snapped, slapping his arm as her cheeks flushed.

“What?” He asked, innocently.

“You know damn well _what_!” She snapped, slapping him once more as he laughed merrily.

He turned the image over in his fingers and grinned down at it – it was a photo of the two of them that he’d taken the night before he’d left. The two of them had been sprawled on their bed, tangled in the sheets, basking in the afterglow of lovemaking.

He still recalled that night with fondly – how long had they remained in that bed, resting before the need of the other became too much to bear? They had remained awake all night – sometimes the need for comfort had been hard and desperate, the grunts and cries of them both primal. Other times, it had been slow, tender, and drawn out so as to make it seemingly last forever.

In the picture, he was on his back, the sheet pooled around his waist as Melania curled into his side – one of her pale legs draped over his hips, just enough that the round swell of her arse was visible. Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck while her fingers threaded his hair.

To him, it was the perfect moment – a beautiful moment of privacy between the two of them. It had been immortalised for the rest of time with the simple click of a camera – he had taken the photo with him the following morning, making sure it never moved from that space between his tunic and gambeson. It was a reminder of what he was fighting to protect.

“Orion just arrived.” He whispered into her hair as the Wards around Blackwall triggered. She made a noise in the back of her throat, as he stepped backwards, giving her space to get to her feet. He chuckled at her pout, but fell silent as she placed one last, lingering kiss against his lips.

“You should greet your son.” She replied softly, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. He groaned and kissed the base of her palm one last time before nodding.

The two of them moved to the door, and stepped into the hallway just as the front door opened, revealing his son – he was taller than he remembered, almost of a height with himself, and wore a well-made doublet and jacket in the colours of House Black. His hair was shorter than his own, and neatly combed, and just the first hint of his dark facial hair was visible on his chin and cheeks. He came to a stop as he stepped through the threshold, his surprise clear on his face.

“Orion!” Arcturus grinned, sweeping the boy up in his arms before leaning back and raking his eyes over him. “Look at you – you’re almost a man.” He smiled, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders.

“Father.” Orion answered flatly, his face impassive.

“Are you not happy to see him? He’s been gone for so long-“ Melania began, placing a gentle hand on his back as she began to draw light circles. He glanced at her, taking in her tense jaw and the tightly pressed lips.

“Of course – it’s merely a surprise.” Orion replied, inclining his head a fraction. As Arcturus looked at him, there was a sense of _something_ about his boy – an anger that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface, and for the life of him, Arcturus couldn’t work out _why_.

Had he not gone off to war to protect his child and wife? Had he not been the kind of father his own had been to him? He had doted upon his family and loved them unconditionally – he instilled the same values in his boy that he’d been taught. Had he failed somewhere? Had his leaving for the war driven a wedge between him and his son?

“Orion – you know I left to protect you, yes?” He asked, his throat constricting uncomfortably.

“I believe you made your reasons for joining the war abundantly clear, father.” Orion replied calmly, though Arcturus caught his hands twitching out the corner of his eye. At his side, Melania covered her mouth with her hand. “You valued protecting _Muggles_ over your family.”

“I-“ Arcturus blinked, stunned. Was that how Orion saw it? He’d left them for _Muggles_?

“ _Orion Black_!” Melania snapped, “That was out of line – apologise to your father at _once_!”

“I will not.” Orion replied, drawing himself up defiantly.

“Melania, it’s fine – I’ve been gone for a long time, and obviously Orion feels differently than you do. Why don’t you go and do whatever it is you were about to do when you walked in.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Orion brushed past him immediately, taking the stairs two at a time as he watched him go. Melania wrapped herself around his arm and pressed his cheek against his shoulder. “You told me he’d gotten worse, but…” He muttered, his eyes staring at the top step absently.

“I don’t know where I went wrong.” Melania sighed. “I thought we did everything right…”

“You didn’t fail at anything; do you hear me?” He said, turning and taking his wife into his arms. “If anyone did, it was me. I’m the one who left.”

“You left for noble reasons.” She muttered into his chest; her voice muffled by the leather of his gambeson. “You left to protect your family and those who couldn’t protect themselves.”

“Aye, and in doing so, I abandoned my wife and son – the two most important people in my world.” He gently cupped her face, their noses touching lightly. “For the rest of my days, I’ll never leave your side again – for as long as you’ll have me.”

“I’m sure I could learn to live with that burden.” She sighed, rolling her eyes playfully. “What will we do about Orion?”

“Leave him to me – I’ll speak with him tomorrow, when he’s had time to accept my return.”

“It’s almost a dream – one I never wish to wake from.” Melania whispered, brushing her hands against his face. “I’m scared I’ll wake any moment and you’ll not be here.”

“A good dream, I’d hope.”

“The very best.” She smiled up at him, quickly capturing his lips with her own.

He blinked as he came out of the memory, finding himself once more in his office before the hearth – the small moving photographs of his wife smiling up at him as he brushed his fingers against her beaming smile.

He could remember the day as if it were yesterday, returning from the war and into the loving embrace of his wife. He had expected things to return to how they had been before, but the reality had been the loss of his son – a boy he had raised as best he could, who had turned out so very different.

Melania had fallen ill not two months after his return, her body failing her. He had been gone for half a decade, fighting a war that would decide the fate of the direction of their world, and his reward? A dying wife and a son who had grown to hate him.

He had tried _everything_ to save her, and in the end, it had amounted to nothing. She had died in their bed in the middle of August, nineteen-forty-nine, and he had wept for weeks.

His grief had turned to anger, and in his darkest moments, he cursed the men and women that had forced him away from his beloved. He had cursed those who couldn’t defend themselves or were powerless to do so. He had cursed the very Muggles that he had chosen over his family.

In his anger, he had understood Orion’s beliefs – they had robbed him of his love, his counterbalance. How many years had they stolen from him? Would she have survived if he’d remained by her side and let the rest of the world hang?

He had fought in a number of important and decisive battles throughout the war – his successes had become those of his superiors, and he had been lauded a War Hero on a number of occasions. He would have traded it all to have remained by her side, to watch Orion grow into the man Arcturus _knew_ he could have become.

Arcturus had failed as a father, he knew that. His son had gone on to spout the belief that Muggles and Muggle-born were inferior to the old families, that they were threatening their very way of life. That his comments had finally gotten him killed in an Honour Duel had been the final nail in the coffin for his capabilities as a father and a role model.

That his son had taken the opportunity to wed his own relation in an effort to keep his own heir _pure_ had disgusted him, and he had simply been glad that Melania hadn’t lived to see just how far their boy had fallen.

He had thrown himself into politics following his return, and for a while, it had helped with the pain and the anger. He had supported legislation that now disgusted him – he had cultivated alliances and relationships with those that would see themselves as masters to the Muggle-born and the Muggles. Had that not been what he had gone to war to prevent?

In the end, it had been Sirius that had pulled him from his spiral – the boy that, despite being Orion’s, had all the traits of Melania. He was brave, courageous, true to his beliefs – there was the son that he knew Orion could have been.

He could recall the first time he had laid eyes on his grandson – the small babe that barely weighed more than a book, who had wriggled incessantly in his arms and gurgled happily as he pawed for the loose strands of his hair.

It had been a rare moment of peace between himself and Orion – the two of them standing side-by-side as they beamed down at the lad.

The two of them had wept and held one another that day – it had been the last time Arcturus had ever seen his son. And now, he was buried alongside Melania in the Black Sepulchre beneath Blackstone Castle with only a carved name, a set of dates, and an epithet to distinguish his tomb from the hundreds of others that lined the labyrinth.

He sighed, blinking a few times as he forced his eyes to leave Melania – her beaming smile and the loop of her spinning on the spot happily was almost too much. His eyes fell on a recent photograph that he had added to his small collection.

It had been taken over the Summer, just after the wedding – in it were himself, Sirius, Amelia, Remus, and of course, the black-haired, green-eyed boy that had stolen his heart. They beamed up at him, all with nary a care in the world.

Amelia had her arms wrapped around Sirius, whispering something into his ear that made his grandson laugh loudly, while Remus rolled his eyes playfully. He stood behind Harry, his hands on the boy’s shoulders – the way he briefly glanced down at the boy, while Harry would look back at him on occasion with that smile of his…

Harry had grown up so quickly, transitioning from the small, excitable tyke that would beg for Sirius to chase him around the house as a Grim, into a strong, solemn boy with the weight of an impossible family legacy on his shoulders.

He had tried to prepare the lad – Harry had learned of politics, commerce, law, and their traditions from him. He’d instilled a desire for knowledge, and a sense of right and wrong that he wished he could have placed in Orion. He would grow to become a fine young man, and Arcturus couldn’t have been prouder.

He glanced down to his chest, the dull finish of his leather gambeson with its diamond patterning looking just as worn as it always had. The armour had served him well over the years – more in the war than it ever had outside of it.

His hand went to that familiar gap between his armour and tunic, the familiar feel of the parchment in his fingers as he withdrew it with as much care as he could manage. It had gotten more fragile as the years went by, and no manner of spell could undo the damage of almost fifty years – had it truly been so long?

Arcturus unfolded it slowly, and his face split into a sad smile as his fingers traced the contours of his wife’s body. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply just before the door opened behind him. His eyes snapped open and tucked the photograph back where it belonged – just over his heart.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sirius and Remus looking at him with small smiles on their faces.

“What news?” He asked, cocking a brow at them as he busied himself with the buckle around his waist.

“He continues to excel, of course.” Sirius grinned, lowering himself into one of the small sofas without a care in the world. “He took down Longbottom without a care in the world.”

“Good – that’s… good.” He breathed, pursing his lips as he nodded slowly.

“Just good?” Sirius asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “He’s _dominating_ the club, and he’s only using the spells the rest of them have been taught.”

“It is rather impressive.” Remus agreed, folding his legs as he shifted in the chair he’d occupied.

“Any improvement on his mood?” He asked, glancing at his steward.

Remus grimaced and interlocked his fingers over his stomach. “He continues to perform as is expected of him, but he’s… _distant_.” He sighed, shaking his head. “This year has been difficult for him, though he expresses his gratitude for his tutor.”

Arcturus nodded, his mind briefly recalling the struggle it had been to find a Parselmouth tutor that he felt he could trust. It had cost him a small fortune to acquire the services of the Valencia family – a small but _old_ family that controlled a part of Scotland. Micca Valencia, the only child of the current Lord, Grafton, was a rising academic – able to speak no less than seven languages fluently, and a prodigy with Arithmancy.

He would have been a fool _not_ to hire her.

“I’m glad he’s learning from her – I’m only sorry it took so long.”

“There were other things that needed your attention.” Sirius said, his voice soft. “Lord Valencia also wishes to express his thanks for the hiring of his daughter and hopes that it’ll be the start of a profitable partnership.” He added, rolling his eyes.

“Aye, I received the letter from Lispy.” Arcturus snorted, thinking of the little Elf.

“Has she stopped threatening to go to Hogwarts yet? Remus asked, fighting to stop the smirk that was slowly spreading on his lips. “At last count, I think she was down to mentioning it five times a day.”

“It’s three now.” Sirius grinned, leaning back. “I think Harry’s gift to her took the wind out of her sails a little.”

“It was rather thoughtful of him.” Remus agreed, smiling.

“Tell me about Amelia’s investigation.” He said, looking at Sirius. His grandson shifted in his seat, before clearing his throat.

“You know I can’t-“

“It’ll go no further than this room – on that you’ve my word, lad.” Arcturus replied, placing his hand over his chest, and bowing his head slightly. He could see how uncomfortable his heir was, but he _needed_ to know.

Sirius squirmed under his gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering to Remus once, twice, before he finally threw up his hands and huffed. “Fine – _bloody hell_ , you could get a priest to confess.” He grumbled before wiping his hands down his face. “She’s got nothing so far – the only thing she’s been able to _prove_ is that someone is attacking Muggle-born.”

“That’s it?” Remus blinked. “I thought she’d have more by now.”

“There isn’t much she can do.” Sirius shrugged. “There’s no evidence to point to anything in particular. She couldn’t even question the students without having to involve half of the Wizengamot.”

“But there’s a credible threat to the students.”

“Aye, but there are also heirs there – don’t underestimate the lengths people will go to protect their heirs.” Sirius sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa. “It’s been driving her to madness.”

“Your charm not enough to help?” Arcturus snorted, turning around, and placing his hands on the mantle as he stared at the photographs before him. There _had_ to be something he could do – there was something missing from it all, some piece of the puzzle.

“My charm is all that’s keeping her from marching an army of Aurors to the school and tearing it apart brick-by-brick.” Sirius replied dryly. “If she had her way, the school would have been closed the day after the first attack.”

“Dumbledore is still protesting it?” Arcturus asked, his eyes trained on the image of Harry from the wedding before him.

“Oh aye – claims they’re taking every precaution they can.”

Arcturus snorted, rolling his eyes as he adjusted the gorget around his neck – wincing as it briefly pinched the skin on the side of his neck. “Dumbledore is a fool then.” He muttered, rolling his shoulders once the piece of armour sat a little more comfortably.

Sirius snickered softly into his hand, while Remus just smiled coyly – neither said anything to contradict him. He’d listened to many of their opinions after each of their teaching sessions at the school over the last two months.

They had often expressed their anger at the ineptitude of the current _Defence_ professor, Lockhart – Sirius thought him to be a fool, who spent more time quizzing the students under his tutelage about his books and past exploits than teaching them any useful spells. Remus just pitied the students that had to suffer their OWL and NEWT tests under his instruction.

He had known for a number of years that the quality of students leaving Hogwarts had been slipping – he’d taken on less graduates in the many businesses of House Black in the last half a decade than he ever had – but he’d held out hope that it would be turned around by the time Harry attended.

Arcturus had given Dumbledore the benefit of the doubt through their correspondence – he’d trusted the man he’d once followed to war, who had led them through the toughest battles, who had bled beside him.

When had he become so _incompetent_?

There was a record low in the number of staff, and Hogwarts wasn’t even attended to capacity – there were a thousand students currently at Hogwarts, and Arcturus _knew_ it could house another five hundred easily. What in _Merlin_ ’s name had Dumbledore done to the school?

That Dumbledore had also allowed Harry to venture so close to danger – through no fault of Harry’s – and come face to face with the spectre of _Voldemort_ …

Arcturus had barely kept himself from drawing his wand on the man – though he’d taken great pleasure in breaking his nose over the disaster of Harry’s first year. The _cloak_ , something he suspected was a Potter heirloom from the tales Sirius told him, _Voldemort_ , the _Troll_!

He felt a headache forming just behind his eyes and he rubbed at the space between his eyebrows tiredly.

“What are you dressed up for?” Sirius asked, looking up at him.

“I’m to meet with a number of Lords to discuss the dissolution of the Muggle-born Identity Act of nineteen fifty-three.” He sighed, shrugging a shoulder. “Something I never should have put my signature on.”

“Which one was that?”

“The one where Muggle-born have _The Marker_ on their wands so that the Ministry always knows where they are.” Arcturus replied, shifting uneasily.

“That doesn’t sound like something you’d have supported.” Remus frowned, sitting forward in his seat.

“I wouldn’t support it _now_ – back then… I wasn’t myself.” He answered, drawing himself up to his full height as his eyes flickered between the two men in his office.

“What’s important is what you’re doing _now_ – you’re trying to do better, to _be_ better.” Sirius said, smiling at him.

“I think I preferred you as a bachelor – Amelia’s almost made you _respectable_.” Arcturus muttered, though he nodded his head all the same.

It was a constant fear of his – was he doing enough? Had he undone the damage he’d done all those years ago? He knew Harry held him in high esteem, and he tried to live up to it, but _Merlin_ , if he didn’t second guess almost everything he did.

Melania would know what to do – she was always good at this sort of thing. He absently patted the spot where he knew the photograph rested and breathed out slowly.

“Gods be good, let’s hope that never happens.” Remus grinned, winking at Sirius. “He’s supposed to be the fun one of the two of us.”

“I’m still fun!” Sirius protested, holding his arms out to his side, and looking suitably indignant. “Just ask Harry – I’m the most fun the boy has ever had!”

“He could use some fun.” Arcturus sighed. “I forget he’s just a boy.”

“A boy with a legacy over a thousand years old on his shoulders.” Remus agreed quietly, rubbing the palms of his hands on his trousers. “We should arrange something – take him away somewhere.”

“Like where?”

“France, perhaps?”

Sirius snorted. “Aye – I can’t see that going terribly wrong when someone recognises him.”

“America is large enough that he should have some anonymity – you could take him to Salem.” Arcturus offered, wandering around his office slowly, brushing his hands over the fine wood of his desk.

“That feels a little morbid.” Sirius grimaced.

“Okay – how about Africa?” Remus suggested. “It’s warm, the culture there is vastly different to our own, and the number of animals there would leave him giddy.”

“It’s possible – there’s enough there to explore for a week or two, and the community is relaxed.” Arcturus nodded slowly, perching against the edge of the table, and crossing his ankles.

“There’s also the northern communities in Scandinavia – you _know_ Neville will want to go with him though.” Sirius said slowly, stroking his chin slowly. “Would we also take his friends? It might do them all some good.”

“If we take the kids, we’d likely need to bring their parents – though I doubt Augusta would wish to come.” Remus said softly. “Would Hermione’s parents even be able to join her? I know some communities have… _enthusiastic_ Wards against Muggles.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

Arcturus tuned the back and forth between the two men out, content to simply watch – it was times like these that he couldn’t help but feel proud over just how far both men had come in the last decade.

When Arcturus had met Remus, he had been soft-spoken, and often hesitant around those he considered his betters – it was a side effect of being a known and registered Werewolf, he knew.

He had known the instant he had met the man that he was kind, thoughtful, and intelligent – he was far taller than himself, and instead of commanding the attention of a room with his presence, he behaved almost like a man half his size, content to remain in the background.

How much had he suffered from the scorn of wizards and witches that didn’t know any better? It had been a crime, to see such a man reduced to so little. Arcturus had resolved to build him up – to make him _family_.

And what progress he had made! It was rare that he offered praise, but to see the man that Remus had become – he had flourished in his role. Remus was efficient, quick witted, and used his intelligence effectively – there was nothing that he wouldn’t trust him with. That he had also become a very dear friend in the last decade had been unexpected, but not unwelcome.

And Sirius – what a man he had become. He was devoted to Harry, dedicated to improving the family, and an honourable man underneath all of the mischievousness. He had worried, after his trial, that he would retreat into his grief, or that he wouldn’t be able to properly care for Harry.

How wrong he had been. Sirius had thrown himself into his new role, striving to make his friends proud, and to raise a boy that they could be proud to call their own. There was nothing that Sirius wouldn’t do for the lad, and Arcturus couldn’t wait to see him become a true father, to see the next generation of House Black thrive in a way that he had never been able to achieve with his own son.

He smiled as the two men continued to throw ideas to one another, gesticulating wildly with their hands and laughing between themselves. He glanced at the clock on the far side of the room, the pendulum swinging lazily back and forth behind the glass door.

It would be time for him to leave soon – the assembly would be expecting his arrival almost on the hour, and it always paid to arrive a little early. It would give him a chance to take the measure of the men and women he would be entering into a political alliance with – to understand where he could push, and where he would need to give ground.

No doubt there would be a handful of Lords that were going to be in attendance simply to make their lives far more difficult than they needed to be – Lord Beardmore being one such Lord that came to mind. Arcturus felt his face twist into a grimace at the thought of the portly, pimple-faced man.

He could still recall the man in the first Wizengamot session after his return from the war – standing there before the assembly and claiming that those wizards and witches that had gone off to war should be fined for abandoning their country in their time of need.

Beardmore had kept quiet over the years, following _that_ particular embarrassment, and Arcturus had been glad for it. Though, it _had_ been amusing to witness Melania physically trying to stop herself from curing the man out of existence.

There were other Lords supposed to be in attendance – those that he knew he could count on to support repealing the bill – Lords Patil, Locke, Weasley, Calvert, Valencia, Greengrass – all would be there.

He smiled slightly. It would do him good to see Castor again. What had begun as a simple business agreement over a decade ago had flourished into a close friendship – he found the man to have such a keen wit, that sometimes, he was left staggering to keep up. It was little surprise that the young Greengrass heir had inherited that trait.

“What time do you have to leave?” Sirius asked, causing Arcturus to blink for a moment.

“Soon.” He shrugged, glancing once more at the clock.

Sirius nodded slowly and rubbed his jaw. Arcturus looked to Remus, who was regarding him with an odd expression – something that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Do you think it’ll get the traction you want it to?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure – I hope so. It’ll do the Muggle-born good to enjoy the same freedoms that we do. Do I think there’ll be difficulty overturning it? Of course.”

“Do we need to prepare anything?” Remus asked, his finger tracing the moustache that sat on his top lip.

“A grave for a few of them if they prove to be too difficult.” Arcturus huffed, his shoulders already tense at the thought of having to deal with the likes of Beardmore, Keefei, Perkin, and Howard.

“You seem on-edge.” Sirius commented, shifting in his seat. Across the room, the large hand of the clock shifted with a click, and across the far wall, the shadows of a flock of birds flew past. It was approaching two in the afternoon – it wouldn’t be long now.

“I’m simply anxious to get started.” Arcturus replied evenly – it was true, this meeting alone had been five years of hard work to get to even this point. If there was one constant in the world, it was that the Wizengamot didn’t do anything quickly. “I think I’m also feeling my age for the first time in a long time.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re middle-aged. You’re hardly the likes of _Dumbledore_.”

Arcturus chuckled, while Remus simply smirked into his hand. “Aye, that’s true – the goat does look his age.” He grinned, pausing for a moment. “But you should have seen him in his youth.” He added quietly, his eyes falling on the far wall as images flittered past them.

He saw faces that had long since turned to dust beneath the soil, the flashes of spell-fire, dirt and debris arching through the air in lazy arcs. He could hear the shouts and cries of combat – not the regulated duels that most were familiar with, but the kind that a single wrong move, one moment’s hesitation could mean life or death. He could smell the scorched ozone as spells flew past his face, the stench of bodily fluids that hung so heavily in the air, that he could taste them.

“He was unstoppable – there wasn’t a spell that came his way that he couldn’t counter. We were all terrified of coming across Grindelwald on the battlefield, of course – nobody could match him – and when he and Dumbledore crossed wands… It was beautiful.” He whispered; his voice had gone breathless, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest in a way that he hadn’t experienced in _years_.

“You were there, at the end?” Remus asked, leaning forward, practically on the edge of his seat.

“I was, aye – I can still remember the witch I killed just as it started. She had blonde hair, she was tall and slim, and her pink trench-coat was stained in mud. _Everything_ stopped when those two fought – it lasted _hours_.”

“You’ve never talked about it – not to us, at least.” Sirius murmured into the quiet of the room.

“There was never a reason to.” Arcturus shrugged, the room snapping back into focus as he cleared his throat. “It was my burden to bear.”

“Did you ever speak of it to _anyone_?”

“Melania.” He grunted, pushing himself up off of the desk. “Melania and I had no secrets.”

“I wish I’d have known her – everything you’ve mentioned over the years… She seems like she’d have been wonderful.” Sirius smiled sadly, pressing his lips tightly together.

“The world is worse without her presence.” Arcturus grunted, running his tongue over his teeth as he eyed the clock. “I’ve spent the time since your trial trying to right the wrongs I made in my grief – I’ll continue to do so until the day I die. Afterwards, I’ll face her judgement.” He nodded slowly, smiling sadly.

“You’ve more than made up for whatever mistakes you made – you’re making the world better for Harry, one piece of legislation at a time.” Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Perhaps.” He said, shrugging a shoulder.

“That reminds me – Amelia asked me something that’s been driving her crazy for _years_ , and at the time, I just shrugged it off, but ever since she asked, it’s had me thinking too.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did we swear to House Potter? I get why _I_ did it – but why _you_? _Merlin_ , House Black and Potter have been rivals for almost two thousand years.”

Arcturus pursed his lips as his eyes drifted back to the clock – it was time. He sighed as he adjusted his armour slightly and patted his chest. “There’s a lot of things that House Black _and_ House Potter have forgotten, and I had my reasons _outside_ of you wanting to prank Britain and protect Harry.” He said, stepping over to Sirius, who got to his feet.

With Sirius before him, Arcturus placed his hands on the shoulders of his heir and smiled. “At the time, I thought telling you _why_ was a mistake – your friends had only just left the world, and you deserved to grieve for them in your own way.” He glanced at Remus. “You both did.” He pressed his lips together as he looked between the two men. “When I return, we’ll talk about _everything_ – there’s plenty you should both know.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Sirius winked, grinning cheekily. “Go on, old man – you should get going. You’ll be late.”

“I’ll have your favourite meal prepared for you when you get back.” Remus smiled, and Arcturus nodded at both men.

“When I get back, then.” He said, stepping away from both men and taking a fistful of Floo Powder and throwing it into the roaring flames, wincing as they flashed a violent green and grew larger – almost to the point that the hearth would no longer be able to contain them. He stepped into the flame, the heat a distant sensation and turned to glance at the two men in the room.

With one last wink, he called, “Wercomb Keep!” and threw his head back as the flames engulfed him.

It was a strange experience, to travel by Floo, and one that he had never quite gotten used to over the years. It felt very much like being sucked through a tube, feeling your body compress into almost nothing and then hurtled across a large distance.

Realistically, he knew that travelling via Floo was almost instantaneous – but actually _experiencing_ it – it felt like an age as he was thrown along the currents of magic. The swirling colours surrounded him in a thick nebula so thick, he could almost feel it brushing against him. It was all in his mind, he knew, but there was something about it all that called to the childish wonder in him, almost a century after he’d first experienced it.

All too soon, he found himself stepping from the hearth in a room he didn’t recognise – there were large stone pillars that were thicker than two grown men standing next to one another. They stretched high into the ceiling, which was arched and blended seamlessly with the support structures holding it all up.

Behind him, the Floo died out, and he felt the Wards of wherever he was snap into place. Outwardly, he remained impassive, his eyes ranking in the details of the room, while internally, his mind raced with possibilities and various scenarios.

He wasn’t at Wercomb Keep – that much was for certain.

The room was too large for the Beardmore family – they may have been Ancient and Noble, but their ancestral home was half the size of Blackwall. The early afternoon light spilled through the large windows that were almost two stories tall, and the room felt warm despite the early January weather and the sheer scale of the room.

He turned, noting the faded, and in places, rotten floorboards – in their prime, they were no doubt a rich mahogany, and would’ve been a sight to see. Now, they were faded, stained, and covered in a thick layer of dust. His boots clicked quietly against them as he wandered around, his eyes searching for any movement.

There were a number of pieces of furniture – there were sofas, which looked half rotten, chairs, which appeared to have been recently used, judging by the lack of dust, and a number of tables and sideboards that littered the edge of the room.

The room looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry, whenever that had happened – the air was thick with dust and had the distinct musty smell of neglect. There were few homes in Britain that could compare to the sheer scale of this place, and many of them belonged to long dead families, or those that had no intention of ever returning to the island.

His hand trailed over one of the large stone columns, the spiralling carvings of half a dozen fantastical creatures decorating its surface as his eyes darted to the large balcony at the far end of the room, where large portraits hung, staring unblinkingly at him.

He approached them slowly, the dull thuds of the heels of his boots echoing throughout the room – as he moved further in, he could see evidence of recent activity. Tables and chairs were arranged close together, all the dust from them removed, and the remains of various pieces of food strewn about lazily.

Almost at the base of the steps to the balcony, a figure appeared at the top, clad in dark armoured plates with vicious looking spikes on his shoulders, elbows and knuckles – he walked lazily, almost as if he had not a care in the world.

His hair was longer than he remembered, though it hung loosely down the front of his shoulders in small braids. His beard was thick and almost completely hiding his thin lips – which Arcturus could see were pulled into a confident smirk.

“Lord Arcturus Black – the _third_ , correct?” The man asked, clasping his large arms at the small of his back as he came to a stop at the railing of the balcony – even from where Arcturus was, he knew the man to be huge, in both build and height.

“Aye.” Arcturus replied warily, stepping away from the steps slowly as his eyes darted about the room. “And you’re Elbert, of House Crane – a Vassal of House _Trevelyan_.”

“Very good – you do me honour to know of me.” Elbert grinned, placing a hand to his chest, which had the sigil of his House – a large, golden Manticore on a field of black.

“It’s hard not to.” He replied, wryly. “You’re half giant.”

Elbert chuckled as he placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward, his hair dangling loosely. “Perhaps I’m descended from them – if I am, it’s been lost to history.” He was quiet for a moment, and Arcturus felt his eyes take the measure of him. “Tell me, _Lord Black_ – do you know where we are?”

“Judging by the scale of the room, I would hazard a guess that we’re in the home of one of the older families.”

“Aye, you’d be right about that.” Elbert grinned, his white teeth a bright contrast against the darkness of his beard. “Do you know _which_ family, _Arcturus_ – can I call you Arcturus?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” Arcturus replied. Already, he could feel his muscles twitching, and it took everything in him not to draw his wand – who knew what precautions had been taken before his arrival. “I’d hazard a guess that it’s House Ruccall – they’re extinct in both domains, and none would expect anything untoward to happen here. _Especially_ the kidnapping of the current Lord Black.”

“You really are as intelligent as he told me. Forgive me, it’s simply fascinating to see it in person – I find second-hand accounts to be… _biased_ , more often than not.”

“Trevelyan, by any chance?”

“Correct again – he was most displeased by your performance last Yule. Personally, I found it all rather entertaining.”

“So, should I expect to be able to pass my thanks on to our esteemed Viscount?”

Elbert’s face turned stony, in less time than it took to blink. “I’m afraid not – you see, this isn’t a warning.”

“Ah – so that’s how it is.” Arcturus nodded, slowly. He rolled his shoulders under his cloak casually, and his fingers flexed. “So, why not simply curse me as I came out of the Floo? Why give me the chance?”

Elbert shrugged casually. “Why do we do anything? My Lord has commanded me, and I must obey – you are an obstacle that needs to be removed, nothing more. You are also a powerful man, no? I was,” Elbert paused, weaving his head back and forth slowly, as if searching for the right word. “ _curious_.”

“And if I escape from here – you must know your Lord will kill you for failing.”

“Perhaps.” Crane shrugged, the dull rattle of his armour following. “But I don’t think you’ll be leaving here, Arcturus Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.”

“You seem confident.”

“I consider it more a case of good planning – but also, yes – I’m rather confident.” Elbert smirked. “Can I tell you a secret, Lord Black?”

“I can spare a minute or two.”

“I brought _friends_ – I’m sorry that you couldn’t have brought your own. I’ll be sure to meet them soon – the Potter boy is the one I’m most excited about. I’ve heard such _tales_!”

Arcturus narrowed his eyes as a dozen wizards and witches appeared at the top of the balcony alongside Crane – all wore similar armour and had the sigil of Crane’s house on their breast. Some held staves, two were hefting bladed weapons – a sword and a Warhammer – and the rest were holding wands.

“You’ll _definitely_ have to kill me if you think I’ll let you anywhere near Harry.” He growled.

“That was the plan.” Crane shrugged, gesturing for his men to descend the stairs. Arcturus was trapped, he knew – there would be no escape through the Floo, and there were no doors behind him – only thick stone walls and large stone columns. He nodded to himself, his eyes raking over those before him.

There were twelve of them – all fairly young, and no older than forty, if he were to guess. Seven were men, while five were women – though all looked fearsome and battle-worn. He nodded to himself and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Well, you definitely have me out-numbered here.” He sighed. “Will you at least grant me last requests?”

“If it is in my power to do so.” Elbert answered from his position on the balcony.

“I request simply that I be allowed to die with my cloak off – it’s rather stuff in here, and I’d rather meet the Gods comfortably.”

“I grant your request, Lord Black.”

Arcturus nodded, and bowed at the waist slightly. His hands went to the straps that crossed over his chest, lifting it up and over his head with a small grunt of effort. He held it before him as he glanced at those before him.

“Shall I put it anywhere in particular? I’m afraid I’m not half the man I used to be – war wounds and all.”

The men and women before him looked between themselves, each frowning in confusion – no doubt they couldn’t care less what he did with the cloak. He was a walking corpse.

That was their first mistake.

He flicked his wrist, the cloak still held before him and felt the familiar handle of his wand leap into his waiting palm – careful to keep his face neutral, he pointed it at the closest of his opponents and let loose with a powerful blasting spell.

The curse blew through the cloak as if it were nothing, and struck the woman in the chest, blowing her torso wide open. She was launched backwards across the room, slamming against the wall with a wet, meaty slap before tumbling through an old table. There was a brief cloud of dust, but Arcturus was already on the move, launching himself behind one of the stone pillars as he grinned to himself.

One down, eleven more to go.

The pillar was thick enough to provide him some cover, even as the spells thrown at him pockmarked its surface and blew chunks of rubble everywhere. He winced as one came particularly close to taking off his ear, before whipping around and firing off a pair of cutting curses at one of the men that were edging closer to him.

The spells impacted his shield easily enough, and just as he ducked around the column once again, leaning out of the way of a spell levelled at his face, Arcturus conjured a ball of flame the size of a grown man, and launched it at the man. The resulting booming impact and the screams of terror and pain as the man’s shield was shattered and he burned to death were like music to his ears.

Arcturus had missed this – nothing quite got the blood pumping like a battle, even if he _was_ tragically out-numbered.

The crackling of the flames as the fire spread around him was all he could hear for a moment, and he knelt and spun out of cover, his wand already up and firing bolts of ice across the room in deadly spears. None struck any of the scrambling men and women he was fighting against, but they served to force them behind cover for a brief moment.

Arcturus bolted from his position – his legs pumping as he sprinted across the room toward another pillar and launching himself over a table that had been in his way. A spell caught him across the back – a cutting curse, and he was once again glad for the gambeson he wore. He grunted as he slammed into the pillar and winced as he tried to move his left shoulder. Already he could feel it bruising.

He spun around the pillar, a trio of _Reducto_ curses thrown at the feet of a woman that was advancing upon him – her shield snapped up, and he took great pleasure in the shock on her face as her legs disappeared from the knees down as the floor exploded beneath her – a final cutting curse separated her head from her shoulders, her shocked face bouncing off of the wooden floor as blood pooled around her.

His wand snapped up, deflecting a trio of spells into the ceiling as he stumbled backwards. He managed to keep his shield up just long enough to duck behind the pillar once more, and he could feel the sweat building on his forehead. One of the men rushed his column, a war-cry in his throat.

Arcturus reacted quickly, pulling the dagger from the back of his belt, and ducking under the swing of the Warhammer – it struck the stone with a sharp ring, and the man stumbled back, grimacing. He was too close to use his wand, and so Arcturus stepped up to him. He struck his attacker in the nose, channelling his magic through his arm. The nose shattered in a spray of blood, and Arcturus took that opportunity to quickly slice his arms – the dull thud of the hammer as it bounced off of the floor registered in the back of his mind – before punching the blade of the dagger through the man’s throat.

Grimacing, Arcturus grabbed the front of the choking man’s armour and used him as a human shield as he retreated further toward the hearth, quickly banishing the dropped Warhammer into the knee of another opponent – they dropped with a cry, and Arcturus banished them bodily into the still roaring flames from his previous kill.

A number of curses struck the man he held aloft, his body trembling as all manner of spell collided with him – his left arm dropped to the floor with a wet slap, and his head rolled from his shoulders with a wet gurgle. Arcturus dropped the body carelessly as he leaned back to avoid a curse from the side.

His shield snapped into place, the white, shimmering barrier absorbing spell after spell, while Arcturus moved his wand erratically in a bid to keep it in place long enough for him to duck behind a third column.

A _Bombarda_ struck the floor just in front of him, and if it weren’t for the shield already in place, the spell and the shrapnel would have been the end of him – as it was, the spell absorbed much of the impact, though he was still sent hurtling through the air, spinning violently until he crashed into the last pillar before the sofas and chairs by the Floo.

He scrambled behind the pillar and hacked up a mouthful of blood and saliva, spitting it onto the floor with a grimace – he could feel one of his ribs broken from the impact. He leaned out of cover, his wand tossing a fork of pure, crimson magic at the fool that had thought to rush him. The man keeled over, a gaping hole in his chest as his sword clattered to the floor. Ducking back behind the stone of the column, he groaned and closed his eyes briefly as he leaned his head against the structure behind him, his hand absently patting the place over his heart where her picture remained.

“Excellent work, Arcturus!” Elbert shouted over the roaring spell fire, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“Oh, _fuck off_!” He hollered back, swinging around the pillar, and snapping off a pair of spells – though neither did much of anything. He just managed to duck as a spell came dangerously close to his nose.

His breath came in laboured gasps now – not only was he injured, but he was forty years past his prime. While he was only middle-aged, his illness had affected him for years – _Merlin_ , the illness had been a curse from Grindelwald’s war, and he could feel its affects all over his body. He ground his teeth together, and ducked around the pillar again, dropping to a knee as he sent a stream of fire at the closest opponent – they screamed as it boiled them alive, dropping their staff.

A lucky cutting curse sliced the leg from one of the last opponents, leaving only four to contend with – even as Arcturus blew his entrails across the room like they were made of confetti. He didn’t even get to scream, so violent was the curse.

Arcturus cursed as he felt a cutting curse slice his thigh – it was a shallow cut, but it made him focus. He leapt from the column, just as a large, cyan ball of magic struck it. The stone immediately began to crumble, and Arcturus dived out of the way as it tumbled around him, kicking up all the dust around him. He leapt over the closest sofa, crashing through one of the nearby tables before scrambling from the debris.

He remained kneeling, his eyes scanning the thick cloud for any shape he could find. His breathing was heavy, and he wheezed from the dust, but dared not to cough for fear of giving himself away. He wiped the sweat from his forehead just as his eyes caught sight of two dark figures through the cloud. They were approaching slowly, and side by side – it would be surprise that would be his ally.

He burst from his position, half a dozen _Reducto_ s flying ahead of him – the first disappeared in a shower of blood, bone, and soft tissue. The second managed to get a shield up in time, but could do nothing for Arcturus’s knife opening their throat to the bone as he rushed past.

That left only two more to contend with.

Arcturus sprinted toward a chair – it was a large armchair, that, in its day, must have been quite spectacular. Now, it was a half-destroyed, rotten mass of wood and cloth. He dropped to his knees, groaning as he slid behind it, just as a spell tore through where he had been only a second before.

He leapt to his feet, half a dozen spells leaving the tip of his wand and striking his opponent – each impact making the last remaining man dance and stumble backwards. By the time he fell to the floor, there was nothing left to resemble who he had once been.

Arcturus grunted as he was thrown forward, his final opponent crashing into him from behind as they tumbled over the chair he’d been standing behind.

The two of them landed in a tangle of limbs, and he cried out as his final attacker – one of the women, delivered a pair of sharp punches to his broken rib. A hand wrapped around his throat, while her knee pinned his wrist with the dagger – his wand having tumbled from his hand as he landed.

His eyes widened and his vision began to grow dark around the edges as he watched her pull a dagger free from her belt. She had the advantage, and for a moment, he began to panic. His feet scrambled beneath her, and his free hand struggled to hold the weapon away from his throat.

He grunted as he changed tactics, pulling the blade toward him, but to the side – the dull thud of the tip imbedding itself into the floorboard beside him removing that concern for the moment. He tore his hand from her wrist and struck her hard in the jaw, sending her rolling from him.

Sucking air into his lungs, his vision returned quickly, and he scrambled to his feet, only just narrowly leaning back as her armoured fist swiped at him. His body was wracked with a series of short, violent coughs, but he made sure to keep moving. Her face was contorted into an ugly scowl, and she lunged at him once more, colliding with his stomach and crashing him against the pillar behind him. He groaned before quickly hammering his elbow into her back.

She released him just enough for him to grasp her hair and sharply pull it up, her scream only interrupted as he smashed his fist into her face once, twice, three times, causing her eyes to roll back into her head as blood gushed from her nose and mouth. He quickly spun her around, his arm tightening around her neck as she scrambled and clawed against him uselessly.

With a sharp, jerked motion, the crack of her neck echoed throughout the room, and he dropped the corpse to the floor and tried to suck in as much air as he could. He was filthy, exhausted, and wounded. He pulled himself to his full height after a moment and stretched his hand out, calling his wand to him.

“ _Very_ good, Lord Black.”

He stumbled forward, landing heavily on his knees, as he felt something punch through his back, knocking all of the air from his lungs. He glanced down, staring at the hole in his chest in disbelief, watching as his life’s blood gushed from his body like a macabre waterfall.

He tipped forward, limp, his vision fading and darkness closing in, and all he could think of was the small, green-eyed child he’d come to love with all his heart.

Arcturus Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, was dead.


	31. Harry XX

The quiet of the Common Room on a Saturday morning was always welcome, though the low rumble of conversation between those few that had managed to drag themselves out of bed on a Saturday morning was always something that made him smile.

As he descended the last step, Harry spied the trio of Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Lauren Calvert – Lavender and Lauren both holding their heads in their hands as Parvati talked at a supernatural pace that put an excited Hermione to shame.

Lavender, with her light brown hair tied back in a messy bun, groaned into her palms, while Lauren, with her straight, mahogany hair that was pooled around her head nodded absently and whimpered pitifully before throwing a piece of scrunched up parchment at the Gryffindor Patil. The girl squeaked as it bounced off of her forehead, before waving her hands before her face.

Harry snorted as he stepped into the Common Room proper, nodding politely to those he passed, even if they didn’t return it – he awoke later than he normally would, his prescription of sleeping potions wreaking havoc with his morning routine, which had been meticulously cultivated over years of surviving Sirius and Remus together.

Growing up, he’d always been on the lookout for any number of pranks – though he suspected Sirius kept himself in check with having to look out for his well-being and safety. That wasn’t to say, however, that he was immune from suffering them. He could still recall the horror of discovering Sirius had adjusted the Runes at Blackwall to only provide ice-water for a week of showers.

He’d made sure to get Sirius back for that one – even enlisting the help of the House Elves in his endeavour. Lispy had been particularly enthusiastic after discovering that his blood-curdling scream that first morning hadn’t been one of pain. When Sirius slept, he’d had the House Elves swap out all of his clothes – particularly his underwear – with women’s. That he _still_ believed it to have been Remus simply made it the prank that kept on giving.

He turned as he heard Neville descend the steps, quickly fumbling with the sleeves of his jacket as he skipped down the stairs. It had been a gift from Sirius to his best friend – a simple dark brown garment made of brown velvet, with strips of black dragonhide leather around the cuffs and along the front, while the short, soft Nutria fur lined it comfortably. Of course, it wouldn’t be complete without the bear of House Longbottom proudly emblazoned on the breast.

“I thought you were going to wait.” Neville huffed, adjusting the coat – it was still early morning, and despite the roaring fireplace in the Common Room, the castle still held a noticeable chill.

Harry tugged on the lapel of his own jacket – a simple dark grey piece in a similar style to Neville’s, though with a few distinct differences. The length was the most obvious – Neville’s halted at his waist, while his own hung down to his mid-thigh. Harry’s also had a few more strips of leather, with the wolf of his family decorated into it in delicate patterns.

“You took too long.” He grinned, running a hand through his hair – he’d left it loose, hanging on either side of his face in thick curtains. Neville, in an interesting change from the norm, had actually gone so far to tie his back in a messy bun. To see how much Neville’s hair had grown from the messy mop it had been upon their arrival in first year was a stark reminder of just how quickly the time had passed.

Neville snorted, rolling his eyes. “Hermione’s probably already gone on ahead.” He said, nodding toward the Common Room, which, while sporting a healthy number of Gryffindors, was absent of the familiar head of bushy brown hair – not that it was even able to be considered bushy anymore.

“Aye – her Dorm-mates are already down. Ten Knuts says Lauren launches the pillow at Parvati.” Harry murmured, pointing to where the girl was attempting to bury herself into the pillow she’d pinned between herself and the arm of the sofa.

“That’s a suckers bet.” Neville snickered, grinning as the two of them eyed the girls.

It was a not-so-secret-secret that Lauren Calvert was a violent morning person – while quiet and unassuming during the day, and content to simply enjoy her small group of friends, she wasn’t afraid to throw a curse, or in this case, a cushion at someone that caught her before she’d woken up.

As they watched the pillow arc through the air, the corner tassels trailing slowly as the pillow spun lazily, Harry couldn’t help but notice that they weren’t the only ones in the Common Room watching the exchange. Coins quietly changed hands, and small cheers echoed out as Parvati, who had focused her attention on Lavender, was struck in the side of the head with a yelp.

“Called it – maybe I have a future in _Divination_?” Harry grinned, making his way across the room quickly as Parvati got to her feet with the cushion clutched tightly in her hands, and raised above her head, ready to strike the unawares Calvert.

The two of them ducked out of the portrait quickly, just as the dull _thwump_ of the impact of the cushion struck. Neville patted him on the shoulder as they began making their way down the staircases. “You really want to have to deal with _Trelawny_?”

He shivered at the thought – the professor had such thick glasses on that her eyes appeared far too large for her head and had so many beads and bracelets on her person that she rattled as she walked. Never mind the constant smell of incense that followed her around like a miasma wherever she went. “Good point – I’ll pass on that, I think.”

“I thought so – who knew there was a smart one hiding under all of that pretty hair?” Neville grinned victoriously, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“Who’s the one that _copied_ my _pretty_ hair?” Harry asked, tugging on a stray strand as the two stepped onto a landing, weaving their way around a pair of seventh year Ravenclaws that were far too engrossed in their conversation to notice who they were passing.

“So, you admit it’s pretty?” Neville grinned, pulling Harry into him.

“I admit no such thing, and you know it.” Harry sighed, ducking out of Neville’s grip, and jumping the last step onto the next landing – one of the sixth year Gryffindor Prefects rushed past them, a small stack of books in his hands.

The two of them continued down the staircases, only having to wait for a single staircase as it swung slowly to another landing where a small gathering of students were waiting patiently. It was a pleasant trip, the castle air getting warmer with each staircase they travelled down, until finally, they were on the ground floor.

The rumbling chatter of the Great Hall welcomed both of them as they stepped through, the wafting smells of the various morning meals making Harry’s mouth water and his stomach rumble loudly, ‘causing Neville to chuckle.

The two of them moved to where Hermione sat, her nose buried in a book as she chewed absently on an apple. Around her, there were other members of their year – Dean and Seamus quietly talking to one another, and Ron shovelling food into his mouth, almost by the handful. Further along, the twins played a game of trying to catch grapes in their mouths, to the cheering of Angelina and Alicia – Oliver sat at the furthest end of the table with one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, Apollo Fiz. The two were laughing freely with one another, and Harry honestly couldn’t recall Oliver ever looking so relaxed.

Harry slid into the bench alongside Hermione, and gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, while she simply waved at him absently with her hand – she continued to chew on her apple as her eyes darted along the lines of the page. He looked over at Neville and rolled his eyes.

“Morning Hermione.” He said, loud enough that she would hear him over the din of the Hall. She bolted upright and let out a startled squeak, dropping the apple onto the table as she looked around wildly.

“ _God_ , Harry – don’t do that!” She cried, swatting his arm.

“Chopped liver, am I?” Neville grinned on her other side, making her jump slightly again. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle as Hermione spun in her seat and slapped Neville’s arm.

“ _Honestly_ , you’re both such _boys_ sometimes.” Hermione huffed, though the smile on her face betrayed her own amusement.

Harry grinned and reached for a plate of smoked, streaky bacon and eggs, spooning them onto his plate greedily. He moaned as the first forkful entered his mouth – the bacon and eggs were seasoned with chive, green onion, pepper, and some kind of tangy, spicy sauce that brought all of the flavours together.

“Good, is it?” Daphne grinned as she and Tracey slid onto the bench across from them.

He nodded enthusiastically, swallowing his mouthful before reaching for a goblet of juice – the tang of the orange on his tongue almost made him moan again. It was cooled, just the way he liked it, and frankly, he couldn’t imagine how his morning could get any better.

“He’s turning into Weasley.” Neville snickered, taking a bite out of a piece of toast that was lathered in raspberry jam. Further down the table, disgusted cries erupted as Ron tried to talk to Seamus and Dean with his mouth full. Harry turned his gaze to Neville and silently stuck his middle finger up at the boy.

“That’s right, Harry – you tell him. Nothing wrong with enjoying a good breakfast.” Tracey grinned, helping herself to a plate which had a smoked salmon and cream cheese omelette, the steam that rose from it lazily filling the air with the rich aroma to his nose – it was almost enough to tempt him to a second plate.

Daphne had helped herself to a plate of small mushroom and sausage quiches, which she ate slowly and delicately – there were four on her plate, all the size of a small muffin, though one was already held between her fingers and half-eaten.

He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a serviette and took a small gulp of juice from his goblet once more, relishing in the feeling of the cold liquid running down his throat and into his rather full stomach. All around him, the benches filled up as more and more students trudged into the hall, some wide awake, and some still half asleep.

“ _Morgana_ , that tastes good.” He murmured, reaching for his cutlery once again. He was about to ask Hermione what her book was about, when the bickering voices of Parvati and Lauren passed them, and he turned to look at the both of them curiously.

“-cow in the mornings.” Lauren muttered, trudging past them and slumping into the bench grumpily – even from where Harry was sitting, he could see the pout as she tried to bury her head in her folded arms on the table.

“I honestly can’t see why you can’t just be _up_ when you wake up!” Parvati sighed, angrily reaching for a bowl of fruit and almonds soaked in milk.

“Not all of us are morning people, Parvati.” Lauren groaned, lifting her head for a moment to grab a croissant and roughly shove it into her mouth.

“You both need to stop arguing.” Lavender muttered, just loud enough for Harry and the others to hear as she spooned a mouthful of porridge. “It’s not even the end of breakfast and you’ve already given me a headache.”

Harry chuckled as he turned back to his own meal, briefly glancing up to see Daphne and Tracey looking at him oddly. “Parvati hit Lauren with a cushion just as we left.”

“But only after Lauren hit her for talking too early.” Neville added.

“Parvati was about to pull Lauren out of her bed by her ankles when I left.” Hermione sighed, taking another bite from her apple. “Honestly, those two in a morning are _impossible_.” She added, muttering it under her breath, though Harry still caught it.

“Not everyone can be up and reading in the morning like you.” He said, nudging her in the side with his elbow. “You’re a one-of-a-kind in that regard.”

Hermione beamed at him, and her cheeks turned a little rosy, though for what reason, he couldn’t quite say. “You think so?” She asked shyly, staring at the apple in her hand intently.

“Of course – and I’m not the only one. Right, Daphne? Tracey? Neville?” He asked, looking between his friends – Daphne and Tracey were both smirking at him, which made him frown, and Neville still had his face buried in his food.

“Oh yes.” Tracey nodded solemnly.

“There’s only one Hermione Granger.” Daphne smirked.

“Mmph.” Neville grunted.

“Thanks guys.” Hermione muttered, going back to her book. Harry blinked, feeling like he’d missed something. He hesitated to begin eating again, feeling like it needed to be addressed – he wouldn’t want to inadvertently upset or bother any of his friends – but thought better of it as everyone went back to their food.

They continued eating in relative quiet, the low moans of pleasure as their food filled their empty stomachs the only punctuation to their meals among the hubbub of the Hall. On the Ravenclaw table, Harry could just make out the rumble of a dozen or more conversations, while the Slytherin table, whose members generally kept to themselves, focused on their meals – there were one or two whispered conversations happening between bites of food.

The staccato barks and hoots of the morning Owls tore his attention from the last of his meal as he glanced up and watched as the mail was delivered – the birds of all shapes and sizes swept through the large room with the thunderous flap of their wings, dropping their burdens off with the recipients.

The mail had come much later than was usual, though in truth, Harry hadn’t thought much of it – he’d been far too preoccupied with filling his stomach before spending time with his friends, and eventually, Clara. He reached out and snatched the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had been intended for him – the large Barn Owl swooping away with nary a second glance.

All around him, people scrambled to open their letters, read their papers, and open parcels – the shocked gasps of those with the _Prophet_ had people rushing about to peer over shoulders.

“ _Bloody Hell_!” Ron gasped from down the table, audibly swallowing his mouthful of sausage. “Someone’s bunked off _Arcturus Black_!” He cried, staring with wide eyes and an open mouth at Harry.

Harry frowned, and moved to open his mouth – only to pause and look around the room. Everyone was staring at him and the room had fallen eerily quiet. Even the members of the staff at the Head Table were looking upon him as they glanced between himself and their open copies of the paper.

He glanced down, to the paper in his hand, and unrolled it slowly – the parchment of the newspaper rustling far louder than he’d ever thought possible.

There, on the front page, rotating in a macabre display for all to see in the middle of Diagon Alley, was the man he had most looked up to. There was a rope around his neck in a noose, and the other end was charmed to hold itself aloft, while a bronze spear was thrust through his abdomen – punched through the leather gambeson and the chainmail he knew he wore beneath it.

He got to his feet slowly, his hands trembling as his fingers traced the slowly looping black and white image on the front page, the ink still slightly damp. His mouth worked, though no sound came out.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from the image – Arcturus’s dark eyes would forever be empty, staring back at him for the rest of his life. The man that had sheltered him, made him feel safe and secure, that had made sure he had learned the lessons that he would need in his life, was dead – murdered and displayed like some kind of trophy in the middle of the street.

The title of the article drew his attention next, the large, bold words echoing in his mind violently. _Lord Black Murdered_.

Murdered.

He slumped into the bench, his knees giving out beneath him, and he felt Hermione steady him as the world became muted – the whispered conversations of those around him seemed so far away, and his skin tingled with his magic. He thought he could hear Neville, somewhere, gripping his shoulder and shaking him, but he couldn’t be sure.

For how long he sat there, the words rattling around in his mind, he couldn’t say – only when Professor Cantrill’s face appeared across the table did he blink, almost violently, as his entire body shook.

“Harry?” She asked, softly – a sad smile adorned her face, and her eyes glistened.

“Professor.” He managed, his throat constricting uncomfortably as he licked his lips. He glanced around, noting that Daphne, Tracey, Neville, and Hermione had remained with him – the rest of the hall was empty, save for a few teachers, all looking at him in sympathy. Professor McGonagall was dabbing the tears from the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Oh, Harry.” She murmured, pressing her lips together. She reached across the table and took his hand, her thumb trailing back and forth across it slowly in small circles. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“He can’t be gone.” Harry answered, shaking his head. It was impossible. The _Daily Prophet_ had to have gotten it wrong – a sensationalist piece, or a stupid prank. Arcturus couldn’t be dead – he was the most powerful wizard that Harry knew, and so politically savvy that it left him stumbling to keep up with half of what he’d passed on over the years.

Sirius would know – Sirius would tell him that Arcturus was fine.

“I need to go to my room.” He murmured, getting to his feet unsteadily, swaying from side to side for a moment before catching himself on the table. “I’m sorry.” He added, hopping over the bench, and taking off at a dead sprint.

His legs carried him out of the large room quickly, and he took the steps two at a time, sometimes three – he was thankful for the staircases’ lack of movement, he didn’t think he could take the delay. By the time he reached the seventh floor, his thighs burned, and his chest heaved – The Fat Lady opened without the need for the password, her own sorrowful eyes briefly meeting his own.

The Common Room was full of Gryffindors, all turning to stare at him as he entered the room – though none said a word as he rushed past, weaving around the members of his house quickly and charging up the stairs. He threw open the door to the small common room, and almost tore the hinges off of his own in his haste.

Hedwig let out a bark of protest, while Clara tilted her head at him curiously as he scrambled past their perches, his breath coming in short and ragged gasps.

It was right where he’d left it, on his bedside table on top of everything else – the smooth surface, and jagged edges glinting in the early morning light. He snatched it up quickly, flicking his wand into his hand as he tapped the tip of it against the flat surface.

“Sirius Black.” He called into the quiet of the room – the mirror vibrated in response, the sensation rattling his fingers as he licked his lips, his eyes darting about the room to the two Familiars that sat staring at him unblinkingly.

After what felt an age, but was no doubt only a few seconds, the pale face of Sirius stared at him – his dark eyes were bloodshot, and there were tear-marks running down his cheeks. His lips were tightly pressed together.

“Pup.” Sirius croaked; his voice thick.

“Sirius – is it true? Tell me Arcturus is fine, and this is all a stupid prank. _Please_.” He begged, sinking to the floor by his bed.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Harry.” Sirius whispered as fresh tears ran down his face. “We just heard ourselves. It’s him.”

“ _How_?”

“We don’t know – not yet. He went to a meeting of some Lords yesterday afternoon and didn’t come home – Remus and I, even Amelia, we all thought it had carried on until late. We never-“ Sirius paused, sniffing. “We never thought it could be something like _this_.”

“What happens now?” He asked after a time – he swiped at his cheeks with the base of his palm.

“Several things. Too many things. The Wizengamot, meetings with the D.M.L.E and I’ll have to arrange for the-“ Sirius swallowed again, paused, and continued. “Service on Monday.”

“At Blackwall?”

“Blackstone – he should be laid to rest with our ancestors.” Sirius replied with a small nod, a sad smile on his lips. “You’ll be there?”

“Of course.” Harry answered quickly, glancing up as he heard a noise at his door – there, all panting, were his friends – even Daphne and Tracey. “I don’t want to believe it. This can’t be happening.” He said quietly to the mirror.

“None of us can, pup.” Sirius sighed, running a hand down his face. “It’s going to be tough, but we’ll get through it – as a family.”

Harry nodded, sucking in a shuddering breath as his friends all crowded around him – Hermione sank to her knees beside him, her long, baggy jumper swamping her small frame, and gently rested her head on his shoulder. Neville sat beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder, while Daphne and Tracey, who were both in a long dress and skirt respectively, simply knelt on the floor before him.

“I can see you’ve got plenty of people around you, pup – I’ll leave you in their capable hands, alright?” Sirius nodded, the slow tears still edging their way down his cheeks. “You four look after my boy, you hear me?”

“Yes Sirius.” They all chorused. The mirror image of Sirius faded – Neville quickly pulling it from his grasp and placing it carefully on his bed behind him.

“He’s really gone.” He murmured, staring at a blank spot on the far wall.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Harry.” Daphne whispered, reaching over, and squeezing his hand. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“We argued a lot, toward the end of Summer.”

“But he knew how much you cared – that’s what matters.” Tracey said, smiling slightly. “He’ll be in _The Everglade_ , feasting with the Gods and bragging about you to all that’ll listen.”

“ _The Everglade_?” Hermione asked, squeezing his arm. “That’s your afterlife, right?”

“Aye.” Neville nodded. “A place of magic, where we live among the Gods in an endless forest of trees kilometres tall with branches so thick, there are entire roads and streets along them.” He said, shifting on the floor.

“There’s the white-city.” Harry murmured, closing his eyes. He had never been a devout follower of the Gods – he had been left to make up his own mind – but he couldn’t help but _hope_ that something awaited Arcturus.

“That’ll be where he’ll wait for you.” Daphne smiled sadly. “You’ll see him again.”

Harry breathed out through his nose and leaned his head against the mattress behind him as Clara began to sing quietly. They would be reunited one day – and he’d tell Arcturus of all that he’d done in the meantime. He’d be sure to make the man proud.

* * *

Monday arrived far too quickly – Headmaster Dumbledore had permitted his departure from the castle and had excused him from classes for a brief period of mourning following the tragedy that had rocked his world.

Everywhere he had travelled throughout the castle, people had stared at him – he was used to it by now – they’d been staring at him since he’d punched Draco, and the whispers had only grown louder as more and more students were attacked.

As Sirius and Remus were occupied with the preparations, it had been Amelia who had collected him from the school – the two of them walking in silence to the front gates, whereupon she had Apparated the two of them inside the walls of Blackwall. He’d not had any luggage, not even an overnight bag – anything he might need, he’d be able to get from his room in the Manor.

He hadn’t brought Clara or Hedwig with him, instead leaving them in the care of his friends – Clara would be able to go out and hunt on her own, but Hedwig would, no doubt, need some additional care. She was a wonderful owl and shared in his affection equally with the Phoenix, though she wasn’t as independent as Clara – he couldn’t help but think he’d spoiled her. Regardless, Hermione and Neville had both agreed to make sure she ate and drank enough in his absence.

Upon arriving at Blackwall, he rushed to his room, feeling Amelia’s sad eyes on his retreating back the entire way up the staircase. He knew she meant well, but what could he say? He didn’t even know what to _feel_.

It all sat so strangely with him. Arcturus was, well, _Arcturus_ – the man that had taken him in so willingly after his parents’ murder in eighty-one. He’d _seen_ death, been up close to it even if he didn’t fully remember, and he’d long come to terms with the fact people were just sacks of meat with a bit of bone propping the whole mess up. To have it all reaffirmed by the loss of, arguably, the most powerful figure in his life?

It made everything feel strangely final.

He’d changed quickly, stripping out of his doublet and jacket of his House Colours, and found himself a replacement for both that were dark enough to pass for black and suitable enough to be worn to the funeral of such a prestigious Lord.

The doublet was simple, with only a simple tie on the right of his neck, and the jacket was left open – only the faintest trimmings of blue and grey in the decoration. The jacket, like his others, hung down to his mid-thigh, and sat comfortably – it was neither too stifling, nor too breathable. He found comfort in the fact that it sat easily over his wand holster.

He had rushed from the room as soon as he was dressed, hurrying down the stairs, and toward the Ro’rim chamber in the bowels of the Manor. Once, many years ago, he had first stepped foot through the very same Ro’rim with Arcturus guiding him – now, he would be travelling through it to pay his final respects to the very same man.

The waiting forms of Remus, Sirius, and Amelia had greeted him, with Sirius eventually nodding and activating the Ro’rim himself.

The four of them, travelled through the mirror, arriving in the usual courtyard before Sirius activated the final frame – as they had passed through it, they had stepped into another courtyard that was so sombre, that for a moment, it was almost palpable in the air.

It was winter, even here – the seasons matched those of England – and light dusting of snow was sprinkled over almost every surface. As far as Harry had been able to see, even all of the waiting denizens of the castle had a small amount of snow on their shoulders and heads. He had glanced up, and even now, as he stood in the Sepulchre of House Black, he could feel the snowflakes landing on the tip of his nose.

He breathed in deeply as he opened his eyes, the dark room illuminated only by the flickering flames of _Magefyre_. There were dozens in the room – a priest from the castle proper, who was dressed in a large, flowing robe with gold trimmings and the closest Lords and Ladies that could attend.

Sirius and Remus had brought Arcturus’s remains to Blackstone the day before – the closed personal sarcophagus left under guard within the larger stone sarcophagus for those of the Household to pay their final respects before the interment. According to Remus, there had been a large floral arrangement left by those that lived within the castle walls – the Blacks were well respected and loved by those that were sworn to them.

The priest stepped up to the closed, obsidian sarcophagus, placing both of his hands on the lid – the small, silver detailing glinting in the pale, flickering light.

Whatever the priest chanted was lost to him – though, he did hear the names of the Gods invoked. Emis, Tora, Enera, Beddoss, Tidall, Koris, and Temra – all were called upon to protect and guide the soul of Arcturus Black on his journey to the afterlife. Before he knew it, Sirius and Remus stepped forward, both lifting the stone lid between themselves and sliding it onto the large sarcophagus that held both Melania Black, and now Arcturus’s sarcophagi.

The lid slid on perfectly, and with a dull thud that echoed throughout the chamber – with only a small Mithril plaque to pay homage to the great man that Arcturus had been.

Harry breathed in deeply, ignoring the press of bodies around him – in the background, someone wept quietly. Arcturus had been a great man in life, and his loss would be felt by many for the rest of their lives. He felt Amelia place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and her reassuring squeeze was comforting.

Sirius and Remus re-joined the assembly, both clasping their hands before them – the brief glimpse of Sirius’s eyes had shown them to be bloodshot, with dark circles around them. It was no secret that Sirius had thought of the man as his father – Harry didn’t know much about Sirius’s childhood, but what he’d been able to piece together over the years didn’t paint a flattering image of Orion or Walburga.

They remained there for a time, everyone offering their own silent words for Arcturus to carry with him into the next life, words he could pass on to the Gods, or to other departed loved ones.

The priest left first, though Harry couldn’t remember when. He had remained where he was, his own hands clasped before him as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He thought about all the things he had left unsaid, and the things he _had_ said.

He felt cursed – first his parents, and now Arcturus. His throat constricted, and his nose stung, but he refused to cry. He would remain strong, stalwart – just as Arcturus had taught him to be.

Some of the Lords left shortly after, retreating into the open air of the castle for the celebration that was to come. There would be food, drink, dancing, and merriment – a celebration of the life of the one that had left them. A time to laugh at memories shared, and weep in mourning.

He wouldn’t be attending – he couldn’t.

His grief was private, silent, and most importantly – intimate. He knew Arcturus better than most of the Lords and Ladies that had attended the funeral. Harry had grown up around the man, his entire life shaped by Arcturus’s desire to shelter and shield him from those that would do him harm.

He would honour the man in his own way, in his own time. He breathed deeply once more and blinked as he looked away from the plainness of the crypt and looked to Sirius and Remus. Both were talking quietly between themselves – Amelia remained by the door, her eyes suspiciously shiny in the darkness of the room.

He moved to her first, the soles of his boots scuffing the flagstone floor and echoing off of the high, vaulted ceiling.

“Are you alright?” She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, not trusting his own voice. “It’s okay to grieve, you know.” Amelia said, her voice soft.

“I know.” He whispered, his eyes darting back to the large tomb that sat upon a stone plinth. “I just…” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean.” Amelia murmured. “It gets easier, you know – with time.”

“I’m scared I’ll forget.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?” He asked, looking up at her – his eyes stung.

She leaned down before him, so their eyes were level, and the pad of one of her thumbs swiped the lone tear that had escaped. “Because he’s a part of you – he passed on everything he could, because he _knew_ you would go on to do great things, Harry. He’ll _always_ be a part of you – do you understand me?”

He nodded and lunged forward, unable to keep the pain inside any longer. He wept – he wept for the trauma of his school year, he wept for the words and accusations he’d thrown at Arcturus at the end of the summer, and he wept for the man that he had admired so – to forever remain in the cold, dark labyrinth of his ancestors.

Amelia swept him into her arms, her hands threading his loose hair soothingly as she gently rocked him side to side as his body shook violently. He sobbed into her dress, the black material quickly becoming soaked with his tears – for how long he cried, he couldn’t say, only that the ache in his chest still remained as his shoulders stopped their trembling with each breath.

He felt Amelia place a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and he breathed a little easier – her hands cupping the sides of his face softly as he leaned back, sniffling and wiping at his eyes with his sleeves. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“Never be sorry for being human, Harry.” Amelia said, tucking the hair on the right side of his head behind his ears.

He nodded and glanced over at Sirius and Remus – both were looking at him, smiling sadly. Sirius rushed him as he stepped from Amelia’s embrace and swept him up in his arms, holding his face tightly to his chest.

“I’m so proud of you today, Harry. So proud.”

“Thanks.” He muttered, squeezing back. Sirius stepped back, holding him at arms-length as he knelt before him.

“He’d be proud too, you know.” Sirius smiled tightly, his eyes growing shiny. “He was so very proud of you.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to it.”

“You need only be yourself – only yourself.” Sirius murmured, his jaw twitching as he smiled sadly up at him.

Harry could only nod, his eyes briefly darting to Remus, who remained where he had been – his dark doublet making his pale skin seem even lighter, while the flames flickered in his amber eyes. “Are you both alright?” He asked, looked between the two of them.

Amelia came up behind him, her hand resting on the nape of his neck comfortingly – they were all that remained of his family, the only one missing, of course, was Neville.

“If we needed any proof of how fine a young man you are, we wouldn’t need it anymore.” Remus smiled, his moustache twitching as he approached. “You are never alone, Harry – you’ll always have us.”

Harry nodded as Remus placed a hand on his shoulder – his throat felt tight again.

Sirius stood with a sigh. “We should make an appearance in the Great Hall. Any longer and they may start anyway.”

“You go – I can’t… I can’t be there.” Harry sniffed, clearing his throat as he shifted from foot to foot anxiously. “I don’t know how they can laugh and make jokes.”

“Alright – but only if you’re sure. If you need any of us, I want you to come and get one of us – the Lords and Ladies can hang for all I care.”

“Sirius.” Remus huffed, cocking a brow at the man.

“I’m serious – they come second to Harry.”

“I’ll be fine.” Harry said, trying to give his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “I just want to be alone.”

“Alright – come on then, let’s get out of here. But if you want to go outside around the castle, you’ll need a cloak.” Sirius said, gently leading him through the door and into the labyrinth of corridors that spiderwebbed beneath the castle.

They walked along in silence, with Sirius’s comforting hand around his shoulders – occasionally pulling him into his side, as if to reassure that he was in fact walking alongside him. Harry felt terrible over the whole ordeal, he couldn’t imagine how Sirius felt.

To Sirius, Arcturus was a hero – _his_ hero – a man to aspire to be. He knew Sirius also loved Charlus, Harry’s own grandfather dearly, and held him in the same regard as he did Arcturus. Sirius would often joke about being one-part Arcturus, and another part Charlus – always striving to find the perfect balance between the two men that had shaped him so profoundly.

Personally, Harry thought Sirius to be damn-near perfect – of course, Sirius made mistakes, and was quick to anger more often than not. He was a Gryffindor in the best way possible. He had the courage to voice his opinions, and the bravery to raise him in the midst of his own grief and despair – Sirius had often remarked on just how similar he was in appearance to his father, something he had heard often from many people over the years. What kind of pain it must cause his father of choice, to look upon the spectre of his murdered best friend? And now, to know that his own role model had been killed and displayed in such a brutal fashion?

Harry could only hope that he turned out to be half the man that Sirius was.

Sirius, Remus, and Amelia all departed for the Main Hall once they reached the surface – though not before the three of them had made sure he was bundled up in a fur cloak that almost swamped his frame. He had watched them go; his lips pressed tightly together as the noise from the Hall trickled from the briefly open doors.

He glanced up, tilting his head back as he felt the continued snowfall land on his face, dusting his cheeks with their cold touch – it didn’t take long for his hair to grow thick and heavy with damp, and his nose visibly turned a harsh red against the whistling wind as it swept through the courtyard.

On the battlements, men and women patrolled slowly, their thick cloaks pulled tightly against their bodies, and their thick hoods protecting them from the worst of the wind. Some were gathered about around fire pits and braziers, holding their hands to the open flames, or with a warm bowl clasped tightly in folded fingers – one witch was idly tossing a ball of flame back and forth between her hands.

He began walking throughout the castle grounds – he had explored it once or twice since the first time they had come, wandering among the dark archways and the twisting labyrinths between the large curtain walls for the inner and outer keep.

It was so different to Arpton, or even Rosestone – with its large stone gargoyles and the high crenellations that lined the walls. The various murder holes watched him as he wandered past, the stone chipped and worn through weather and ancient battle damage.

The snow was dark, muddy and mostly slush beneath his boots on the cobblestone beneath him and there were a number of large mounds of snow packed tightly against the walls – the only splashes of white against the dark stone.

If not for the guards manning the walls and the various intersections of the castle, the fortress would have felt almost deserted, all of the inhabitants seemingly celebrating the life and accomplishments of the man that had so violently left them – it gladdened him, to know so many cared for Arcturus, that so many would have tales to tell, and stories to weave.

The day before, his friends had tried to recount the times they had shared with the man, no doubt to make him feel some sort of comfort from the act – however, it just made his absence all the keener.

He kicked a small mound of snow absently as he walked into the garden of the castle – there were greenhouses arranged along the far wall, and a number of snow-laden rows of flowers and herbs with a stone path weaving through it all, like a snake. He had glimpsed it from above in a previous visit, and Arcturus had told him that it had been laid out by one of his ancient ancestors, as a reminder of the animal they had taken for their sigil.

Harry snorted, recalling the memory – he could almost feel Arcturus’s hand on his shoulder, hear his rumbling laughter. As Harry had pointed out, it was hard not to imagine the large castle, nor any of their family without the serpent involved somewhere. Not unlike his own family, and their penchant for putting wolves on almost everything.

He walked the stone path slowly, his hands scraping the tops of the bushes and plants idly as he went – the snow freezing the tips of his fingers. The plants weren’t particularly tall, the tallest barely reached his hips. Some were still in full bloom, their petals frozen and tinged blue as he passed them – he considered plucking one, if only to show it to his friends when he returned to Hogwarts, but decided against it.

With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the far side of the garden, his cloak pulled tightly around him once again – the bear-pelt around his shoulders tickling his chin and his cold nose. He trudged up the steps to the outer curtain wall, passing a guard silently on their path down the stone staircase.

The steps were slippery, covered in snow and ice – winter here was far more intense than in Britain, though they both lasted about the same amount of time – thank the Gods. He made sure to place his feet slowly, carefully, always ready to reach out and grasp the small wall that would stop him tumbling to his death on the cobblestone below.

Upon reaching the top of the wall, he couldn’t help but pause and look out over the distant forest in the distance. Like everything else, it was covered in a layer of snow, and the tall, thick pine trees stood proudly, gently billowing in the wind. If he closed his eyes, he could just make out the many animals that prowled its domain. He breathed deeply through his nose, relishing the cold bite to the air, leaning against one of the many crenellations that lined the wall.

The corner of the stone was hard and unyielding, and served to buffet him against the wind – it was stronger up here, with nothing to break against other than his own small body. As he continued to gaze out upon the rolling, frozen fields, and the distant forest – whose road he knew led to both the Capitol and his own lands – he couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of nostalgia.

Arcturus had been the catalyst behind his initial coming here – he knew that. Sirius had wanted him to be older – the magic here had had an effect on his own, even he knew that. Ever since his first visit, he’d found he held a certain affinity for the Wild Magic of the world, that same magic, he knew, that saturated the soil and the very air of this place – Wild Magic was, as its name implied, wild and chaotic. It was unpredictable, and almost alive in its own way. It was why Floo Magic, Brooms, and Apparition were impossible here – no amount of Arithmancy could organise Wild Magic in the same way it could in Britain.

He’d read enough books over the years on the subject to give himself a headache just thinking about it.

He wondered what his friends would think of this place – Neville and Daphne knew about it, but they’d never visited. They couldn’t on their own, for neither family held a Ro’rim, and it wasn’t hard to decipher why. Daphne’s family held land in Ireland and had ruled there for over a thousand years – Neville hailed from the Norse settlers of Scandinavia.

What would Neville think of this place – or Daphne? How would Tracey react, or even Hermione? He could imagine Hermione trying to wrap her mind around this place, or even objecting to parts of the society – the very patriarchal nature of the Lords would certainly draw her ire.

He wished he could share it with them in the same way that Arcturus had shared it with him. For now, he was forced to keep a part of himself separate from his friends, to hide what he loved the most – he couldn’t even introduce them to his parents, as morbid a thought as that was. Perhaps, one day, they could travel to this place and pay their final respects to Arcturus themselves.

He pushed himself away from the crenelation and continued walking the walls – he passed more guards huddled around metal braziers, their hands held to the flickering orange flames, or tucked tightly under their cloaks.

The handful of towers he passed through were a brief reprieve from the wind and the snowfall, offering short periods of warmth for as long as he stayed within their walls – which, wasn’t very long, as he would immediately exit the other side.

Eventually, he came to a stop, watching the courtyard below him. From his position, he could see the few people that had come from the Hall and had decided to mill about in the cold – some smoked pipes, while others drank and made merry. The guards remained where they had been when he had departed Sirius, only occasionally glancing at the guests.

His eyes strayed to the dark wooden door that led to the final resting place of House Black – before today, he had never been permitted in there – not that he’d ever had any true desire to explore such a morbid place.

What he was expecting, he wasn’t sure. He was used to the honouring of the dead at Arpton – the wands of those that had come before him on display for the Household to offer their respects, and the crypts themselves for the family to spend time with their family. It seemed so impersonal to him, but it was their right to bury their dead how they wished.

He could only hope that he would be permitted to visit – to tell Arcturus how he was doing at school, what troubled him, to let him know that he was living up to his expectations.

His eyes stung again.

He’d never see Arcturus’s smile again – the one where his eyes would crinkle in the corners. He’d never feel his hand on his shoulder, and that comforting squeeze that could only ever be _Arcturus_. He’d never hear his voice again, or his laughter – _Merlin_ , he’d even take his rage at this point, to hear him shout and bellow about some fool or another in the Wizengamot.

He took a shuddering breath. He ached with the loss of Arcturus.

“I thought I’d find you up here.” Sirius said, appearing on Harry’s left, his own cloak wrapped tightly around him. Remus appeared on Harry’s right, similarly attired.

“It’s quiet.”

“That it is.”

The three remained there for a time, basking in each other’s presence – the silent support all they needed. With the absence of Lispy, the two men beside him were all that remained of his early childhood. First his parents, and now Arcturus.

“Did it turn up before the ceremony?” He asked eventually, his eyes still locked on the door to the Sepulchre.

It worried the three of them and Amelia that Arcturus’s wand hadn’t been with his body as it had been displayed in Diagon, and with no hints or clues able to be gleaned from the display and the corpse themselves, they were left with unanswered questions too numerous to count.

“No.” Sirius replied, his voice tight. “I’ll find the bastard that did it though.”

“ _We_ will.” Remus nodded. “Amelia’s keeping the investigation open for as long as it needs to be. A Lord killed, displayed like _that_ …” Remus shook his head. “People will want answers.”

“Good.” Harry nodded once, his fists clenching and unclenching beneath his cloak. “Let me know when you find them – I want to kill them myself.”

Out of the corners of his vision, he saw Sirius and Remus share a look between them, the two of them glancing down at him.

“And what gives you that right?” Sirius asked, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip absently. “You are a _child_ , Harry – and you will remain one for as long as you can.”

“Whoever killed Arcturus deserves to die.” Harry scowled, keeping his eyes on the Sepulchre.

“And they will, Harry.” Remus sighed. “But as much as you considered him your grandfather, he _wasn’t_ your blood.”

“He might as well have been.”

“Aye – on that, you’re right.” Remus nodded. “He thought of you as his own.”

“I know.”

“Did he ever mention Dorea to you?” Sirius asked after a time, glancing in his direction. Harry shook his head – he knew the name, and her relation to Arcturus, but no more than that – each time he’d asked about her, Arcturus would fall into melancholy. He’d learned to avoid her name, over the years. “You know she was your grandmother, of course. She was also his favourite sister – you were the last piece of her left in the world. He’d have moved mountains for you.”

“None of us deserved him.” Harry sniffed, chewing on his tongue – it was a good way to distract from the burning sensation in his eyes and nose, or the lurch in his chest.

“No, we didn’t.” Remus agreed, briefly glancing to the sky.

“We’ll avenge him, Harry – and you’ll go on to make him proud of the man you’ll become. Then, one day, when we’re all fat and old, we’ll see him again.” Sirius said softly, pulling Harry into his side. The three of them remained standing where they were, the late afternoon slowly turning to evening as the lights began appearing in the windows of the buildings and stars dotted the skies.

* * *

Returning to Hogwarts the following day had been strange – it had felt like he hadn’t truly left. Clara was as affectionate with him as she always was, and Hedwig had fought for his attention the moment he had stepped into his room.

He’d been excused from lessons upon his return, and had spent much of his time in the Common Room, tucked into a corner as he flipped through a small mountain of books in an attempt to catch up on the theory of what he’d missed.

There had been his double _Magical Theory_ class, _Alchemy_ , _Magical Languages_ – with additional notes from Micca, _Potions_ , and _Astronomy_ to catch up on. Not only did he have that, but he had the classes he’d missed during the day of his return as well, double _Defence Against the Dark Arts, Magical Languages,_ and double _Potions_.

He’d hidden himself away from the rest of the Common Room behind his books, all piled high and arranged as a shield from those he didn’t want to have to deal with – the stares and whispers that he had held steadfast against all year would have been too much to deal with.

His walls were broken and crumbling, in the aftermath of saying farewell to the man that had always been there. At some point, his friends had appeared – even Daphne and Tracey, both having been given special dispensation to enter the tower from Dumbledore and McGonagall, though they both had to leave before curfew.

He had relished their company – the way Hermione would organise his notes and look over them for mistakes, jotting down small notes here and there in the margins. Daphne would help him plan what he would tackle next. Tracey would find references for him, and Neville would simply be Neville – his quiet words managing to help him smile.

They kept him grounded following the funeral – reminded him to live in the present, to enjoy the company of his friends. At night, he would succumb to the effects of the sleeping potions that Madame Pomfrey prescribed him, though the effects of a full night’s sleep would soon wear off as the day progressed.

On Wednesday, he went through his classes, and found himself in the delightful position of not being behind in any of them. He followed the instructions of Hagrid in caring for his Familiar, though even the friendly giant confessed that Harry likely knew more about a Phoenix than he did.

Double _Transfiguration_ with McGonagall had been a quiet affair – the spell they had been studying had been simple to execute, and many got it in the first try or two. Not even Seamus had been able to have the spell blow up in his face this time.

As the final bell rang for the day, Harry found himself wandering toward the Library, with his friends in-tow. There was little that he wanted to search for there, but either way, when he finally stepped foot in the domain of Madame Pince – her hazel eyes tracking his every movement over the top of one of her thick tomes from her desk – he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t felt since waking on Saturday morning.

He had meandered his way through the aisles, and slid into the table at the far corner of the Library that he’d discovered the year before – it was quieter than most, the sunlight filtering in through the tall window, making it warm and comfortable, yet not so much that it was stifling.

“Any reason we’re in here?” Daphne asked, cocking a brow.

“It’s quiet?” Harry answered, placing his bag on the table, and stretching his legs out beneath it. His back curved over the back of the chair and a number of satisfying, muted, pops ran up his spine. He groaned in pleasure as he rolled his shoulders.

“It’s a library, Harry, and Pince terrifies me.” Neville muttered, leaning around one of the large bookcases and glancing at the ruler of the Library. “I heard she made Emily cry last week.”

“She damaged a book.” Hermione sniffed, opening a thick volume on something or another – her eyes already skimming the page.

“You’ll find no sympathy with Hermione, Neville – books are her religion, remember?” Tracey grinned, her copy of _Fantastic Beasts_ already in her hand.

Harry smiled, watching the by-play between his friends, before pulling his own book out of his bag – here seemed as good a place to make a start on his homework as any other. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could read things that _he_ wanted, or spend time with his friends simply talking.

The time passed quickly – Neville and Daphne busied themselves with perusing the various books on the Founders. Daphne had argued that if Neville was stupid enough to search for Salazar’s Chamber, then she may as well make sure no book cursed him or get himself killed between the aisles of bookcases.

Tracey remained engrossed in her own book, her soft _ooh_ ’s and _ah_ ’s punctuating each page as she looked upon another fantastical creature. It was times like these that he was reminded of just how _young_ they all were. Despite being the youngest of the group, he often felt the oldest of the _Vargarnir_ – he had lost his innocence years ago – and treasured moments like these when they arose.

Hermione remained at his side, her knee touching his own, and every now and then, she would tap his ankle with her own shoe – almost as if she were reassuring herself that he was, in fact, there. He appreciated it, as it kept him aware of everything around him – from the soft conversation between Neville and Daphne, to the murmurs of wonder from Tracey. He found himself paying more attention to them than he ever had during one of their study sessions – as a result, he didn’t get as far into his homework as he wished he had, but still far enough to call it progress.

When they packed up for the night, the four of them stepped from the Library and began making their way to their Common Rooms, only to be caught up in a stampede of students rushing the hallways – the panicked cries and hurried conversations of those around them making them pause just long enough to be swept up in the throng of bodies.

They pushed their way to the front when the crowd stopped, finding themselves in the Great Hall – the tables and benches pushed to the side so as to accommodate the crowd. All around were the students of all years and all four houses, with the staff of the school standing at the far end, watching them all with concerned eyes.

“It has come to my attention,” Headmaster Dumbledore began, his voice loud and clear. “that a Hufflepuff student has been attacked this evening.”

The frantic whispering struck up again.

“As it is before our evening meal,” Dumbledore continued, his voice overcoming the whispers. “I have decided that a lighter meal will be served tonight, and all of you shall stay in this Hall.”

Harry looked to his friends; his eyes wide – he hadn’t heard the Basilisk this time. Hermione grabbed his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“The adjoining chambers will serve as changing rooms, and your nightwear will be provided from your rooms by the House Elves. In the morning, once a proper sweep of the castle has been completed, you will be permitted to return to your Common Rooms, in which you will all stay for the rest of the day – do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore.” The Hall replied in unison.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stepped closer to Hermione. If a student had been attacked in broad daylight, it could only mean one thing – whoever had opened the _Chamber_ was getting bolder, and their plan, whatever that was, was closer to completion.


	32. Hermione IV

February fourteenth was a day that Hermione was sure that she would remember for the rest of her life – for there was nothing about this day that excited her in the same way it seemed to excite those around her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true – she was excited, but it was dwarfed by the feeling of absolute misery and dread that sat heavily in the bottom of her stomach. She should have remained steadfast – like she had at the end of her first year – only, she had crumbled before her mother’s determination and, damn it all, her _bloody_ reasoning.

Hermione trudged her way down the stairs, willing her feet to move as slow as possible – with each step, she felt a lurch in the pit of her stomach – a lead weight that wouldn’t shift – and her heart fluttered painfully in her chest, speeding up with every anxious glance at the bottom of the many flights of stairs before her.

Perhaps, if Arcturus hadn’t met his unfortunate fate a month ago, she may have felt differently – after all, it was supposed to be a big moment for her. All she could think about, however, were the melancholy smiles, and those bright, emerald eyes that would grow shiny when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

Harry, her best friend – her _first_ friend – was aching in such a terrible, painful way, and she had no idea what to do to make it better. She spent every waking moment at his side, more often than not, when they sat on the floor of his room each night, she would find herself dozing off with her head on his shoulder. He would wake her with a gentle shake, and Neville would be there too – the two of them assisting her to the bottom of the staircase leading to her room, their eyes on her until she passed into her own little Common Room.

Those nights, she would dream of the Harry she used to know – the kind boy that had leapt on the back of a Mountain Troll without a thought or care for himself, that had accepted her for who she was when nobody else would. She’d dream of the quiet nights reading in their corner of the Common Room, tucked away in an alcove while the twins unleashed terror on the rest of their house.

Other nights, she would dream of castles, and forests – of knights in their shining armour, and the princesses and ladies to whom they would beg favour.

It was that same desire that drove Hermione to pour over the articles pertaining to Arcturus’s death – some of the information she’d found hadn’t painted a very good picture, but her hope was to bring as much information to Harry as she could, if only to give him that bit of closure he desperately deserved.

She had discussed it with her parents – specifically her mother – and had been left utterly astounded at the emphatic response she had received. Even now, as she meandered down the staircases, she could remember reading the response from her mother about why postponing the plans they had discussed for _months_ was the exact _opposite_ of what Harry needed.

Hermione wasn’t quite so sure.

She was of the opinion that Harry needed security, and his friends to rally around and support him in whatever he needed – recently, he had taken to the hunt for the _Chamber of Secrets_ with a passion and fervour that she hadn’t seen in him since before _Draco_.

She didn’t know why, but she found herself always drawn to his face in those moments – the way his eyes would stare at the looping words on the parchment – nor did she know why it made her stomach flutter and her cheeks feel warm.

Her mother, in comparison, believed that Harry needed something _normal_ – she tried not to grimace over the implication of _that_ – to bring him out of his funk. To remind him that the world continued to spin, and that he was surrounded by those that cared for him.

Months ago, it had seemed an excellent plan – easy to accomplish, and it looked _excellent_ on paper. Now, with everything that had happened, and everything that continued to go on around them, she found her nerves twisting her stomach uncomfortably – but she pushed forward – she was a Gryffindor, after all.

The plan had been simple – she put extra care into her hair, making sure that it was similar to how she had worn it at the Black Wedding. Her bangs were braided into a crown around her head, while the rest of it fell in loose, wavy ringlets that fell between her shoulder-blades.

She had applied a number of charms – making sure to use the ones Daphne had taught her – to highlight her eyes and add a little colour to her cheeks. Nothing much, just enough to keep it looking natural.

Today was a Sunday, which meant that she was free to wear whatever she pleased around the school – within reason, of course, it was February, in Scotland after all. As a result, she had opted for a pair of warm boots, with the laces meticulously tied, of course, a pair of her navy jeans and a thick, warm, burgundy, pull-over hoodie.

Inside the front pocket, her hands fidgeted nervously and her hands felt clammy – her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she stepped around a giggling pair of fourth year girls, both clutching small handfuls of parchment to their chests as they hurried past her.

She was going to kill her mother.

She closed her eyes briefly and leaned against the railing of the bannister of the landing on the first floor. There was only one more staircase left between her and the ground floor, and after that, only one short trip between the foot of the staircase and the hundreds that would be within the Great Hall.

Perhaps it all would have been fine, had Lockhart – a professor she was struggling to respect more and more as time went on – not made his _stupid_ announcement on Friday before classes began. Everywhere she looked, there were garish decorations all about the walls, and small fairies flittering about the air.

It was supposed to have been a day like any other – like it had been last year – where people _didn’t_ make a huge deal out of it. They simply received their parchment with a simple verse on it, and moved on – yes, that was how things were supposed to be done. Not _this_! Whatever _this_ was.

Maybe, if she were lucky, she would wake up in her bed and it will have all been a terrible dream. She pinched herself, just enough for the sharp jolt to run up her finger and cursed quietly under her breath when the dream didn’t dissipate.

She was going to have some very _firm_ words with her mother – and her father for being a coward and not taking her side.

She huffed as her boots came into contact with the plain, flagstone tiles of the ground floor – the beige stone looking far more cheerful than she did in that moment.

Because she’d spent longer on her appearance – she’d tried on no less than _four_ outfits this morning – the boys were already down in the Hall. Neville would no doubt be making a grand time of it all, teasing Harry to his heart’s content, while Harry would be buried under a pile of parchment – just like he was last year.

The walk between the staircases and the Great Hall seemed shorter than it ever had before, and as she came to a stop between the two large wooden doors, she felt as if she were on the precipice of a cliff.

The four of them were exactly as she’d imagined them – Neville was laughing to his heart’s content, and Harry looked especially forlorn as he tried to salvage his breakfast from the small mountain of parchment and envelopes that covered it.

Daphne and Tracey sat opposite the two boys – the two of them with their own modest piles of parchment as they grinned and nibbled at their food daintily. Unlike the other occupants of the room, the two Slytherin’s paid no heed to their stacks of envelopes.

She took a bolstering breath and quickly wiped the palms of her hands on her thighs and took the leap – her right foot entered the Great Hall first, and then her left foot. She concentrated on moving one foot at a time and maintaining a pleasant smile on her face.

Was she smiling too much? Were her steps too quick? Damn her mother for making her go through with this.

Her friends looked up at her approach, and she couldn’t help the triumphant grin when it was _Harry_ who looked in her direction first. Daphne smirked and cocked a brow at her as her eyes took Hermione in, and Tracey grinned impishly and bounced in her seat excitedly. Neville smiled as he leaned around Harry, and the boy for which all of her stress the last two days had been about, smiled at her in that familiar way that made her heart beat a little faster – the first time it had happened, she thought it the start of a panic attack. Even now, months later, she wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t.

She slid into her usual spot, next to Harry, and almost leapt away when their knees bumped together – though he didn’t seem to notice, or, if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Further down the table, Fred and George were attempting to serenade Angelina and Alicia with off-tune and off-rhythm ballads, while Katie Bell shook her head in exasperation.

Her eyes darted to the small mountain of envelopes that Harry was pulling from his plate – his breakfast completely ruined. There were dozens – and it seemed most were addressed to ‘ _The Boy-Who-I-Love_ ’ – the overpowering stench of perfumed parchment filling the air all around them so much that Hermione’s eyes began to water.

“Good morning.” She choked into the back of her hand, waving her other hand back and forth in a futile attempt to remove the miasma.

“It _is_ rather good, wouldn’t you say, Tracey?” Daphne commented, her grin devilish and her ice blue eyes sparkling behind her long lashes.

At her side, Tracey leaned forward, resting her chin daintily on her hands as she grinned at Hermione along with her friend. “The best.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the two girls – they were practically giddy.

Daphne was clothed in her usual style of dress – it was black, with long sleeves. Her hair was loose, rather than being tied in a complicated up-do, as was usual – the dark curls cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. Tracey, on the other hand, was wearing a similar hoodie to her own, though hers was grey, and her thick, dark hair, was tied back in a messy bun.

Harry, the whole reason for her nauseating morning, was dressed impeccably, as always. He wore a thin, baggy tunic – not unlike the one he’d worn when he was last under Madame Pomfrey’s care. His sleeves were rolled up and bunched around his elbows, and it was just thin enough that she could make out the silhouette of his chest and stomach beneath it.

She averted her eyes quickly and felt her cheeks warm at the smirking faces of the two traitors across from her. She scowled at her friends and stuck her tongue out at them both when neither boy was looking.

“Shouldn’t you both be opening those?” She asked, gesturing to the small piles by both of the girls. The piles sat alone on the table, ignored, and forgotten. When the two of them glanced at where she was pointing, both looked startled that they even existed.

“Probably not – they’ll most likely be overtures for a betrothal.” Daphne shrugged, flicking her wand into her hand, and tapping the top envelope. The pile burst into a small, controlled flame – within seconds, the parchment was consumed, and the ashes removed from sight the table remained untouched.

“Pretty sure I have one from Draco.” Tracey grimaced, holding one envelope up gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. “I think I’d rather kiss a slug.”

“That can be arranged.” Neville muttered around a mouthful of apple.

“Careful Longbottom – or I’ll make _you_ kiss Malfoy.” Tracey fired back immediately, giggling as Neville’s eyes went wide and he inhaled his mouthful violently.

While Neville thumped his chest and coughed into a napkin, Hermione bumped her shoulder gently into Harry’s. His eyes darted to hers, his loose hair whipping through the air, and for a moment, her mind ground to a violent halt as a stray strand of his dark hair dangled before his eyes lazily.

She tracked it back and forth, watching as it wafted gently in the breeze of the Great Hall, the way it bobbed and bounced with each movement Harry made. She shook herself violently from her trance and blinked quickly as she averted her eyes.

“Any that stand out this year?” She asked quietly, nodding to the pile before them – her hands darted beneath the table, her fingers worrying the creases of her jeans around her knees.

“They’re not addressed to me.” Harry snorted, tossing three onto the table dismissively.

“That just means they don’t really care about you.” Hermione smiled, bumping his shoulder again. “All that matters are us five – the _Vargarnir_.”

“Damn right.” Neville coughed from the other side of the table.

“We’re a pack.” Daphne nodded. “Though, personally, I say we drop Neville as soon as possible.”

“Hey!”

“Survival of the fittest and all that.” Tracey nodded.

“I’m fit!”

“You just choked on an apple.” Harry deadpanned, turning to look at the boy next to him. Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and attempted to hide her smirk, though at Daphne’s playful wink, she knew it to be a lost cause.

“I wasn’t prepared!”

“To what? Eat an apple?” Tracey grinned.

Neville’s mouth opened and closed quickly, though no words came out.

“I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a more _Gryffindor_ thing – Neville almost got sent to Madame Pomfrey because of an _apple_.” Daphne snickered.

“Hey now, he was very courageous and brave while he was choking.” Tracey added – the two girls falling into full-belly laughs as they held on to one another for support.

Beside her, Harry was chuckling quietly and patting Neville on the shoulder. “Don’t let the mean Slytherin’s get you down, Neville – you’re the consummate Gryffindor.”

“You could do with earning a few more hours with Madame Pomfrey though.” Tracey grinned. “Isn’t it a Gryffindor’s rite of passage?”

“I don’t know what you-“ Hermione sniffed, only to be cut off by the large boom that shook the Great Hall. Further down the table, Seamus blinked the soot from his eyes as the large cloud of smoke dissipated into their air – all around, students laughed and cheered.

“You were saying?” Daphne asked, levelling her with a look.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She murmured with a pout. “The spells aren’t hard.”

“That’s the curse of being a Fire Elemental – things like to go boom.” Neville sighed, waving a small mist of smoke from his face – of them all, Neville had been the closest, and small embers still fell lazily. She assumed, from the smell, it was all that remained of Seamus’s breakfast.

“It must be so much better being a Water one.” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes as he narrowed his gaze at Daphne.

Hermione had to stifle a giggle – it had been a few days, but evidently Harry was still sore about his first loss in the Duelling Club. He had duelled Daphne, and the witch had surprised everyone by unleashing a cyclone of water at Harry that had thrown him against the shield, gasping for breath and soaked through.

“Now that you mention it…” Daphne grinned, tapping a finger to her chin.

Harry tossed another letter onto the table – this one was splashed with egg yolk. “You don’t have to be so smug.”

“Why?” Daphne chuckled, propping her chin on the back of her hand. “I’ve watched you duel – you never make the same mistake twice. I doubt I’ll be able to surprise you like that again.”

“She’s right, you know.” Neville nodded, reaching for a plate of eggs and soldiers. “As much as I hate to admit it.” He added sulkily.

“Of course I am.”

“When did you know?” Hermione asked, leaning forward – her foot was bouncing under the table, the one closest to Harry. She tried not to think about their knees bumping every few seconds.

“That I was an Elemental?” Daphne asked, tilting her head to the side slightly. “I don’t know – I tried a spell and it worked.” She shrugged.

“We should get Hermione trying out _Magefyre_ one of these days – if she’s any, that’ll be the one.” Neville chuckled as he dipped his toast in the yolk.

“It was _one_ _time_!” She cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “I hardly think that counts as sufficient evidence.”

“Let me dream.” Neville shrugged. “I might set him on fire myself if he gets rid of one more of my potions.”

“Maybe you should stop getting them wrong.” Tracey quipped, stealing a slice of toast from Neville, and sticking it in her mouth.

“Not my bloody fault.” Neville huffed, to the chuckles of those around him. “Snape is _awful_.”

Harry nodded solemnly and finally tossed the last of the envelopes from his plate – the meal was ruined, of course, and Hermione had been keeping a watchful eye on the ones she had seen him sort through. She couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that her own would arrive separately.

“Are you going to open your letters?” Tracey asked, shaking her from her thoughts. Hermione blinked.

“I beg your pardon?” She asked, frowning. “What letters?”

“Oh – silly me.” Tracey grinned unapologetically. “These ones.” She said, lifting a small pile – five envelopes tall – from the bench beside her.

Hermione accepted them dumbly, her fingers tracing over the simple envelopes slowly. She had never received cards before. A small part of her felt giddy, while another, larger, part wanted to do anything _but_ open them.

Summoning all of her courage, she broke the seal on the first one – it was a short, to the point note about how nice she looked with her tamed hair and the skirt she’d taken to wearing this year. She grimaced in distaste and had to force herself not to glare in Terry Boot’s direction.

The next two were both from Gryffindor’s in the year above – one was from Cormac McLaggen, and the other Richard Mab, the two boys never far from one-another’s side, and well known throughout the school for commenting on the appearance of girls.

The fourth came as a surprise, as it came from Earnest Macmillan, from Hufflepuff. She immediately discarded that one – he was the source of some of the vile rumours about Harry that were flying about the castle.

The final came from Graham Montague of Slytherin – a tall boy that often trailed after Draco. She scrunched her nose up at the terrible verse that had been scrawled on the parchment and dropped it on the table with the others.

She heaved a sigh, and Harry bumped her leg with his own as he leaned into her. “Better luck next year.”

“Hopefully.” She squeaked – she hadn’t _meant_ to squeak, of course. Her cheeks warmed once again, and she wished desperately for the bench to swallow her whole.

“I like your hair today, by the way.” He added, taking a quick sip of his drink.

Hermione hadn’t bothered with food or drink. Her stomach had been in knots since the moment she had woken up, and even the brief moment of recognition for the time she had spent on her hair made her stomach go all a flutter once more.

“Thanks, I, uh, like yours too.” She murmured, mentally reminding herself to curse her mother across the country when the year finished, threat of expulsion be damned.

“Mine?” Harry blinked, setting his goblet down on the table. “I didn’t do anything with it.” He frowned, eyes looking up comically toward his hairline.

“It, uh – it always looks nice.” She said quickly, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Oh – thanks. You should have seen it when it was short.” Harry snorted. “Stuck up everywhere.”

“That feels like an understatement.” Daphne snorted into her cup. “You looked like you’d chewed on a wand.”

“Was it really that bad?” Tracey laughed, leaning forward. “It’s hard to imagine him with short hair.”

“It was worse.” Neville answered gravelly, causing Harry to roll his eyes. “Damn near defied gravity.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.” Harry muttered, and Hermione caught the twitch of the corner of his mouth.

“You’re right – it was worse. It was _adorable_.” Daphne answered dramatically, sticking her tongue out as Harry reeled back as if he’d been struck. Hermione laughed at his expression – his mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide.

“You take that back. It’s bad enough I have to take that from Andromeda.”

“Who do you think told me to call you it?” Daphne challenged, nose crinkling as she grinned.

“She wouldn’t.” Harry gasped.

“She would.” Both Tracey and Daphne said as one. “We got the letter the other day demanding we refer to you as adorable for the rest of your life.” Tracey added.

Neville swallowed his mouthful and snickered quietly – Harry snapped his eyes to his friend and raised a warning finger. Hermione found the whole thing delightfully refreshing. It was as if the terrible events of the year hadn’t happened.

“One word from you, and I’ll make you dance all night with her at the next celebration.” Harry warned.

Neville shrugged. “I don’t mind – she’s pretty.”

“She’s married.” Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes.

“And old enough to be your mum.” Tracey grimaced.

“I’ll grow up.”

“That-“ Harry began, only to pause and shiver. “Is an image I could have done without.”

“Doesn’t she have a daughter older than us?” Hermione asked, propping her chin on her hand as she leaned on the table.

“ _Gods_ , I’d forgotten about Nymphadora.” Neville shuddered. “She’d flay me alive.”

“And you think Sirius wouldn’t? She’s his favourite cousin.” Harry chuckled.

“He has more than one?” Hermione blinked.

Neville grimaced and leaned on the table around his plate. “Andromeda’s the middle child of three – Bellatrix was the oldest, then Andromeda, and Narcissa was the youngest.”

“Narcissa? Really?” Hermione sighed, cocking a brow. “Is she a narcissist, by any chance?”

“Ironically, no.” Harry sniggered. “She _is_ Draco’s mother though.”

“Sirius is related to _him_?” She gasped; her eyes wide as they darted to the blonde boy on the Slytherin table where he was holding court with his troupe. “I wondered what he was doing at the wedding.”

“Pouting, probably.” Neville grinned. “The Malfoy’s think they’re better than they are.”

“Even their family in France wants nothing to do with them.” Tracey snorted. “It’s not even a secret.”

“That sounds…” Hermione paused and pursed her lips, looking for the right word. “Sad.”

Harry shrugged. “They’re a cadet branch of the family, and rumour is, they settled here because of some scandal or another back in the day. There’s cadet branches all over the place.”

“There used to be a dozen Potter families.” Daphne sighed. “One used to live on our land – or so my father tells me.”

“They did.” Harry nodded. “I have the records at Rosestone.” He shrugged.

Hermione frowned at the turn the conversation had taken – she could see the slump in Harry’s shoulders, and the quiet that had fallen over them all. Around them, students laughed and joked, read their letters allowed, or shyly approached one another. In that moment, they seemed to be in their own little world, a complete contradiction to those that surrounded them.

She reached out, grasping Harry’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. When he squeezed back, and he smiled at her, despite the tightness in which his lips were pressed, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d achieved something great. Recently, each of Harry’s smiles made her feel like she’d stumbled upon some secret treasure.

She was about to say something – _anything­_ – to change the subject to a happier one, when the call of an owl drew the attention of half the Hall. It was a Tawny Owl with gorgeous brown feathers tipped with white – its short yellow beak clutched the bane of her morning in its vice grip, and its large, black eyes stared at Harry as it swooped through the air.

It landed before him, gently placing the envelope on the table, and offered a slight bob of its head. Harry reached out slowly with his fingers, a small piece of bacon between them that the owl ate eagerly, tossing its head back and closing its eyes. It hooted softly when Harry scratched its neck affectionately.

“You’re not allowed another owl.” Neville muttered. “Hedwig’s enough of a handful as it is.”

“I think she’s perfectly well behaved.” Hermione sniffed – her brief panic over the delivery of the letter momentarily forgotten as she rallied to the defence of Hedwig.

“The two of you are in cahoots, that’s why.” He huffed. “Come on, Harry – open the letter.”

“Yeah, it could be a secret admirer.” Daphne added, staring at Hermione, an excited grin splitting her lips.

Harry sighed and turned the envelope over, though he hesitated when he saw the address. Hermione cringed and pulled the front of her hoodie up, over her nose.

“Huh – it’s addressed to _me_.” He murmured, actually going so far as to open the envelope – unlike all of the others he’d tossed to the side.

“He _is_ a smart one.” Daphne snickered.

The parchment came out easily enough – it was just a small piece that was folded neatly in half with a simple, innocent verse on it. Hermione had spent _days_ agonising over what to say and what not to.

Harry read in silence, his lips mouthing the words and his eyebrows crinkling together in the middle. His eyes darted from the top and to the bottom once, twice – scanning it with that same intensity that made her feel funny in the Library.

“It’s just signed ‘ _H_ ’.” He muttered, turning the sheet over in his hand and checking the back. “Nothing else.”

“What did you think of it?” Daphne asked, leaning forward eagerly – the owl long-since having flown from the Hall.

“It was lovely.” Harry replied. “No idea who signed it though.”

“Really?” Hermione blinked, sitting a little taller as she looked at him in shock. “You’ve no idea?”

“No – why would I? It’s just signed with an initial – it could be from anyone.” Harry shrugged, folding the paper, and tucking it into a pocket on his trousers.

“Is this really happening right now?” Tracey blinked, looking between the group dumbly. “ _Seriously_?”

Daphne elbowed her with a look, while Harry just looked confused. Hermione frowned and folded her arms across her chest – she had thought she’d made it abundantly clear. Perhaps there _was_ something to be said about Gryffindor thick-headedness – the _boys_ in particular.

She huffed and refused to look at him.

“Is what happening?” Neville asked, confused.

“Her-“ Tracey grunted, rubbing her side in the corner of Hermione’s vision as Daphne elbowed her again. Tracey cleared her throat awkwardly. “I mean, _Harry_ , opening, his, uh – his first letter! Who’d have thought, ey?”

“It _is_ a first.” Neville hummed with a shrug.

Hermione blinked as she looked up and around at the two boys – seriously, this _couldn’t_ be happening.

“Hermione, can I have a word?” Daphne asked, standing from the table.

“Me too!” Tracey cried, scrambling to her feet.

“We can come too – we’re done here.” Harry said, moving to get to his feet.

“No!” Daphne and Tracey shouted, drawing the eyes of those around them. “It’s girl stuff!” Daphne added, waving for Hermione to get to her feet.

“Okay – I guess we’ll meet you in the Library then?” Harry offered, to which Daphne nodded shortly.

Hermione stood up with all the enthusiasm of a convict walking to the gallows – her plan had been an absolute failure, something she should have expected – but to have it crash and burn so spectacularly? She sighed as she stepped out of the long bench and trudged down the aisle, Daphne and Tracey matching her pace on the far side.

She followed the girls out of the Great Hall, and into an empty classroom just down the corridor. While Tracey directed her to a seat, Daphne pulled out her wand and locked the door with a flick of her wrist.

Hermione sat heavily onto the chair – it was one of the smaller classrooms, and all around there were runes displayed and various formulas – one of the electives, then. Tracey and Daphne both spun chairs around from the row in front of her and leaned on the single, small table separating them.

“Boys are stupid.” Daphne said immediately – she reached over and grasped Hermione’s hand, squeezing it affectionately.

“I don’t think I can ever forget what I just witnessed.” Tracey murmured, her eyes staring at a spot just over Hermione’s shoulder. She sniffed and smiled a little, despite it all.

“How, uh – how long have you two known?” She asked, her eyes darting between the two girls.

“The Troll.” They both nodded, grinning simultaneously.

“A girl can’t ignore a boy as brave as that.” Tracey beamed. “I don’t think chocolates would have quite the same impact.”

“I-I didn’t…” She began, her eyes wide.

“We know – we let you work it out on your own.” Daphne smiled. “Between the three of us, Harry’s always been a bit slow on the uptake of things to do with girls.”

Hermione grinned, her free hand tracing the grooves in the wood of the desk slowly. “Do you think-“

“Without a doubt.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!” Hermione cried, looking between the girls.

“Oh please.” Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes. “He’s only had eyes for you since the whole thing with Quirrell.”

“ _Morgana’s tits_ , he sent you a letter with _Clara_ over the Summer.” Tracey gushed. “That he did _that_ should speak volumes. It’s not your fault he’s thick-headed.” She added, snickering.

“I can’t believe he didn’t work it out – he’s usually so smart!”

“He has a lot going on, and he’s not used to reading these sorts of things.” Daphne soothed, smiling kindly. “Don’t hold it against him now, but _really_ lay into him for it on your first Hogsmeade for me.”

“You think we’d go to Hogsmeade together?” Hermione asked shyly, glancing at the tabletop. It wasn’t that she hadn’t considered the possibility of one day _going_ to the town – but to go with _Harry_? She pressed her lips tightly together, that same giddy feeling from earlier flittering around in her belly.

“I think he’d be a fool to go with anyone else.” Daphne replied, arching a brow as she smirked. “Our Harry always pulls his head from his arse eventually.”

“ _Daphne_!” Hermione gasped, her cheeks flushing – Daphne simply grinned triumphantly and sat back with her hands in her lap.

“So, when did _you_ work out that you fancied him?” Tracey asked, scooting her chair closer to the table.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, her eyes flickering between the two girls for a time before she huffed out a breath. “The wedding.” She answered eventually, sliding down the chair a little and covering the front of her face with her hoodie.

“Yes!” Tracey cried, throwing her arms in the air victoriously and falling back against her chair. “You owe me five Galleons.” She beamed at Daphne, who was scowling at Tracey.

“Damn you, Granger.”

“I can’t believe you were betting on this!” Hermione cried; her eyes wide. “Of all the rude, _inconsid_ -“

“We have wagers on everyone.” Daphne shrugged nonchalantly. “Even one on Longbottom.”

Hermione’s tirade stopped abruptly as Daphne’s words echoed around her head. She opened her mouth to speak, only for the words to die on the tip of her tongue – her jaw closed with a snap, and a few seconds later, she tried again. “What do you mean you have one on Neville?”

Tracey shrugged easily. “Which House his first Hogsmeade date will come from.”

Hermione scrunched her nose.

“I have money on Slytherin.” Daphne said, folding her legs. “Personally, I’m holding out hope for Parkinson.”

“Seriously?” Tracey asked, her head whipping to look at the other girl. “ _Parkinson_ , of all people?”

“Aye – she wouldn’t know what hit her.”

“That-“ Hermione began, only to sigh and pinch the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Because you love us, and after Harry, we’re your favourites.” Tracey grinned, resting her head on Daphne’s shoulder playfully. Hermione rubbed her temples.

“Just because Harry is-“ She began.

“Pretty.” Tracey added.

“Brave.” Daphne nodded.

“Kind.”

“Or funny, when he wants to be.”

“I hate you both.” Hermione sighed, glaring at the two grinning girls. “You spend far too much time together.” She huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“It’s against the Hogwarts rules to lie.” Daphne nodded solemnly.

“Who said I’m lying?” She replied, narrowing her eyes at the two.

“Your nostrils flare when you lie.” Tracey shrugged, and Hermione’s eyes widened as she covered her face with her hand. “We’re _Slytherin_ ’s for a reason, Hermione – do try to keep up.” Tracey winked.

“You’re both terrible.” She said, her voice muffled by her hand.

“Aye – but we cheered you up though.” Daphne smirked.

“Shut up.” Hermione pouted.

“Why _did_ you give him the letter? I’d have thought you’d have waited for a bit.” Tracey asked, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I was pretty sure you’d wait, actually.”

Hermione shrugged a shoulder, her hand lowering to play with the string of the hoodie, twirling it around her finger absently. “My mum made me do it.”

“Wait, excuse me?”

“I’d been planning to do it since before Christmas, and I wrote to my mum for advice, and we came up with a plan, and then everything happened, and I tried to cancel it-“

“Hermione, breathe.” Daphne chuckled, interrupting her hurried spiel.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting to ten, before releasing it. “I tried to put it off, but my mum said it might be the best thing for him right now, with everything that’s happened.” She paused, focusing on the string around her finger. “It didn’t feel _right_.”

“Done this before, have you?” Daphne asked, cocking her head to the left.

“No, but I-“

“Then how do you know how it’s supposed to feel?”

“But-“

“Hermione, we’re _thirteen_.” Daphne began. “Well, you two are.” She clarified, gesturing to Hermione and Tracey. “Harry’s had an _awful_ time of it – and frankly, we have no idea how to do any of this. I agree with your mother.”

“Me too – we weren’t there through all of it, but we know he’s not the same as he was in September.” Tracey smiled morosely. “Maybe it’ll help to remind him he has people here that care about him.”

“How much of his responsibilities do you understand – I mean, _really_ , understand?” Daphne asked, leaning forward, her forearms resting on her knee.

Hermione blinked, looking between the two girls. “Uh, he’s never really talked about it, but from the books I’ve read – he’s the last of his family, right? With Sirius and…” Her breath hitched. “ _Arcturus_ pledging House Black to him, he’s arguably the most powerful person in Britain, right?”

“Partly – you’re on the right track.” Daphne sighed, glancing at the door. “Whatever I tell you _doesn’t_ leave this room, understood?”

She nodded, her tongue wetting her lips quickly.

“Harry is the last surviving heir of his family – you know that already. Here’s the thing, however – if Harry dies, without an heir of his own, House Potter goes extinct. A family that has a legacy of over a thousand years, gone, like that.” Daphne said, snapping her finger for emphasis.

“I only know a little, ‘cause you hear things every now and then – mostly rumour.” Tracey added. “But the rumour is that half the Ministry is chomping at the bit to get their hands on the Potter estate.”

“It’s true – my father and Arcturus denied a motion in the Wizengamot to declare Harry a _bastard_ three months ago. It’s not just the Ministry that want the Potter lands – it’s the other Lords too.”

“That’s _awful_!” Hermione cried.

“That’s politics.” Daphne shrugged. “Until he can claim his title, they’ll keep trying – even after, it’s not a sure thing he’ll be able to keep hold of it.” Daphne closed her eyes briefly and chewed on her lips. “ _Arcturus_ taught him politics and the history of his family, as best as he could, from the moment he could learn. For all that Harry is loved – he didn’t grow up the same as you and Tracey.”

“It’s not a secret that Heirs grow up quicker than everyone else.” Tracey shrugged. “I remember the first time Harry was seen in public after House Black took him in – it was all over the papers, and my parents didn’t stop talking about it for _weeks_. I think we would have been, what, six? Seven?” She asked, glancing at Daphne.

“He was six, just about to turn seven. I’d only known him a few months by that point.” Daphne nodded, looking toward Hermione. “You have to understand, Harry only knew Neville and I by that point. The first time he went out…” Daphne shook her head. “He jumped at the slightest noise for at least a week.”

“Pretty sure he got mobbed.” Tracey muttered darkly.

“He did.” Daphne nodded sadly, smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress absently. “Arcturus put half a dozen reporters in Saint Mungo’s.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with him? I get being _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ , but he was a _baby_!” Hermione sniffed. “Why don’t people just let him be _Harry_? He hates that title.”

“He does – Neville was with him when he first learned what it meant.” Daphne sighed, rubbing her hands idly in her lap. “You know he knew Neville for years before he met me.”

Hermione and Tracey nodded.

“Harry loves to read – you both know this as well as anyone. He found a book. I don’t know _how_ he found it, but he and Neville read it together – I think they were four or five. He read about what happened to his parents, and it was the first time he performed accidental magic.”

“What did he do?”

“Blew up half of Andromeda’s house – damn near gave Lipsy a heart attack, too. Neville has been with him ever since. They don’t talk about it.”

“Is that why they’re so close? Or is it usual for God-Brothers to be like them?”

Daphne took a minute to answer – her lips pursed in thought. “Possibly – though it’s more likely because they’re both the last orphans of the war.”

“It’s terrible.” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “Do you ever wonder what the two of them would be like if they still had their parents?”

“Harry would be happier. Neville too.” Tracey smiled sadly.

“It doesn’t do well to dwell on the ‘ _what-if’_ s’ – at least, that’s what my mother tells me.” Daphne shrugged. “I think that’s the saddest bit about it all – it’s all Harry has, sometimes.”

“He has us though.” Hermione nodded resolutely.

“That he does.” Tracey grinned. “Some more than others, I’d say.”

“ _Merlin_ , you can’t stay serious for five minutes.” Hermione sighed, getting to her feet with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s why you keep me around – you’d all be far too serious without me here.” Tracey sniffed, quickly getting to her feet also. Daphne was the last one to stand, smirking as she did so. “Besides, if you think I don’t want all of the juicy details of your first Hogsmeade right after, you’re very much mistaken.” She added, hooking her arm through her own, while Daphne unlocked the door.

“He hasn’t even worked out it was me yet!” Hermione replied, shaking her head. “And Hogsmeade isn’t until next year – he could ask anyone else in the castle by then.”

Daphne looped her arm through Hermione’s remaining one, the three of them slowly meandering through the castle arm-in-arm. She couldn’t help but smile to herself – the morning had been absolutely terrible. She’d been dreading it, and to have Harry not even pick up on the hint…

She had her friends, though. She had Daphne, and she had Tracey – there was a comfort that came from them that she couldn’t replicate with Neville or Harry, no matter how much she adored the two boys. With the two girls, she could be herself – she could ask how to manage her hair, ask what clothes suited her and what didn’t. She could even talk about boys, though there was really only one that she wanted to talk about.

“I wonder who _my_ first Hogsmeade will be with.” Tracey sighed, resting her head briefly on Hermione’s shoulder. “Just as long as it isn’t a Gryffindor.” She added, scrunching her nose as she looked at them.

“And what’s wrong with Gryffindors, hm?” Hermione asked, arching a brow.

“We’re already out-numbered. I think we need to make sure we’re not spending any _extra_ time in the Medical Wing, don’t you think?” Daphne answered, her amusement barely contained as they turned a corner.

“Oh please – I’ve yet to end up there.” Hermione scoffed.

“The fact you ended up in that tower is a crime. We’d have made a proper Slytherin of you.”

“I don’t know – the Ravenclaws would throw a right tantrum if they didn’t get her.” Tracey muttered, causing the three of them to laugh.

“What about Hufflepuff?” Hermione asked, her head swivelling between her friends. “You don’t think I could have ended up there?”

“Oh, sure – but then you’d have to deal with the likes of Diggory. How any girl can get any work done in that house is beyond me.” Tracey sighed, a far-away look in her eye.

“Diggory – seriously?” Daphne blinked.

“He’s just, rather handsome is all – and kind too!” Tracey shrugged as the entrance to the Library came into view. There weren’t many students about on a Sunday, and it had quickly become one of Hermione’s favourite days to visit the hallowed hall.

“It does fit with Tracey’s trend.” Hermione murmured as they stepped through the entrance – at the far end, she could spy Harry and Neville huddled around a thick volume and talking quietly between themselves.

From her desk, Madame Pince eyed them warily – a stack of parchment on her desk, and a quill in her hand as she paused in her duties. Hermione offered a small smile to the matron of the library and received a short nod in response.

“What do you mean?” The girl asked, looking at her.

“Your penchant for older men.” She shrugged her shoulders, smirking.

Tracey stopped dead, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Hermione!” She shrieked, her face turning scarlet as she rushed to catch up with Hermione and Daphne, both of whom had continued walking. Daphne, her arm still entwined with her own, burst out laughing – her free hand darting up to cover her mouth.

“Volume, young lady!” Madame Pince called, her furious gaze on the group of girls.

“Sorry Madame Pince!” Tracey called over her shoulder. “Won’t happen again!” She added quickly. The moment the three of them were out of view of the librarian, Tracey whirled on Hermione. “I don’t know if I should be shocked or proud.”

“You can be both – I know I am.” Daphne chuckled; her grin matched only by Hermione’s own. It wasn’t often that Hermione would tease any of the others – she had been teased far too viciously and often growing up – but every now and then, she would indulge herself.

“You understand that this means war – you can’t fire a shot like that and not expect retaliation.” Tracey laughed, taking Hermione’s arm once more.

“You’ll do no such thing – leave her be.” Daphne said, rolling her eyes. “If you want to go to war with someone, have at it with Neville.”

“But he’s too easy!” Tracey pouted, and Hermione found herself giggling as they came to the table where the two missing members of the group had settled at.

They had decided to hide themselves away within the Library at every given opportunity – there were volumes upon volumes in the room on all sorts of subjects, and it was avoided, especially on weekends, by most of the school. Of course, Harry had Quidditch practice three evenings a week, and Duelling Club took up their Thursday evenings.

It had become a refuge for them – with the return of Daphne and Tracey to the group before the holidays, the school’s ire had turned toward them too. Though, there weren’t many that would dare stand against the formidable duo of the two Slytherin girls – at least, not overtly.

Hiding away in the library had actually been Hermione’s idea, and one she was rather proud of. It had taken time for her and Harry to come around to the idea of searching for the Chamber – the two of them had been of the opinion that Amelia needed to be informed of the Basilisk right away. The scale wasn’t enough to be certain of anything, and as much as she hated to admit it, was more likely to get Harry in trouble for possessing it.

She shouldn’t have been surprised – after all, Basilisk’s were illegal, and all sorts of serious trouble would be brought down on anyone that was found with one in their possession. The selling of their carcasses was perfectly acceptable – if _heavily_ regulated when their parts came on the market – and according to Tracey, the Goblins were always the number one buyer.

If Harry should announce to Amelia – related through Sirius or not – she would be forced to open an investigation into Harry for possession of the item. It would be just the opening people would need to give him more grief than he already had.

It had taken a couple lengthy conversations – with Daphne, of all people, advocating for the search – but eventually Hermione had conceded defeat and suggested they use the library. It was the perfect place. Disruptions would be minimal under Madame Pince’s watch, and they had access to all the books they would need – barring the Restricted Section, of course.

Daphne extracted her arm first, and slid into the chair across from Harry, and Tracey took the one across from Neville. Hermione scowled at the two girls as they grinned – the chair next to Daphne was piled high with books – as was most of the table – leaving only the seat next to Harry available.

“What are you three giggling about? I get nervous when the three of you are together.” Neville asked warily, his eyes looking between the three of them as Hermione slid into her chair.

“Just some girl talk.” Tracey shrugged a shoulder, propping an arm on the table and resting her chin on her hand, her fingers tapping her cheek in a slow, steady rhythm.

Neville shuddered, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin at the brief look of panic that swept over his face. “Forget I asked.” He muttered, looking back down at his book.

“What are we going through today?” Hermione asked, looking at the various books arranged in their neat stacks.

“Personal accounts of the Founders – their journals and the like.” Harry answered, his fingers tracing the lines of the page absently.

“You really think we’ll find anything in these?” Daphne asked, lifting one from the pile next to her. “ _Surely_ , these must have been gone through hundreds of times by almost anyone looking for the Chamber.”

“I’m with Daphne on this one – you really think we’re not wasting our time? Everyone knows it’s somewhere in the Slytherin Common Room.” Tracey nodded, thumbing through a few pages of her own. “I can’t imagine the other Founders will have known much about what happened there.”

“Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t – either way, I think leaving any possible lead unexplored would be foolish.” Harry replied evenly, his voice soft.

Hermione picked up her own book – one of the journals of Rowena Ravenclaw. The volume was old, the leather binding flaking and peeling away from the thin piece of wood it was bound to. The pages were old, the parchment dry and dusty – between her fingers, it felt as if it would crumble at any given moment, and the ink had almost completely disappeared in places.

Her eyes swept the looping, graceful flow of Rowena’s penmanship – she wondered what the woman would have been like in person. Hermione had always pictured herself a little like Rowena, or, when she was thinking especially highly of herself, that Rowena was more like _her_.

It was well documented that Rowena was the smartest witch of her age, and as Hermione’s eyes scanned the woman’s inner-most thoughts, she couldn’t help but agree with that assessment. Rowena wrote in such a clear, concise way, that it was easy to follow along – almost like a teacher explaining a problem in class.

That her written word occasionally referred to some unknown term that Hermione couldn’t even begin to guess at, or even comprehend – there was passing reference to a spell linked to her Diadem, a relic that had long been lost – made her head spin with a pleasant buzz. She could read Rowena’s books for hours – maybe when it was all said and done, she’d do just that.

Her fingers turned the page with all the same care that a parent would give a new-born. These books were priceless, relics of a time that lacked many texts.

_It is with my deepest regret that I write in this book on the evening of February second, nine-hundred-ninety-eight._

_For four months, we four friends have quarrelled and argued on the subject of Muggle-born entering our hallowed halls of Hogwarts. My dearest friend, Helga, joined me in extolling the virtues of those born into families that hold no magic, for what could be a greater gift than that of magic?_

_My mind races with the possibilities of those that have joined our school, or, one day, will walk along the corridors of the very fortress that we transformed to suit our needs. What wonders would they create, under the direct tutelage of the many tutors that reside here, pooling their knowledge to innovate and improve?_

“I think I’m reading about the breaking of the Founders.” Hermione murmured; her eyes wide as she looked up at the others at the table. Daphne and Tracey looked up first, followed by Harry, and finally, with a grunt – or perhaps it was a stifled snore – Neville.

“Seriously?” Tracey blinked owlishly. “From which one?”

“Rowena.” Hermione answered, her fingers tracing the lettering slowly.

“Damn – I got Hufflepuff.” Tracey pouted, leaning back in her chair, and running her hands down her face. “What’s she saying?”

“I hope she’s spilling all the secrets on the other Founders – could you imagine if we got dirt on the Gryffindors?” Daphne grinned, nudging Tracey. “They’d never live it down.”

“Godric was an upstanding wizard, thank-you-very-much.” Neville huffed, sitting a little taller. “There’s a reason he’s so well thought of – better than your own.”

Hermione frowned at that, and swatted Neville on the arm, leaning around Harry and brushing against him briefly to do so. He smelled sweet – had he tried a different soap? She cleared her throat as she settled back into her chair, brushing her fingers briefly through her hair as she pulled it over her shoulder.

“Ah yes, because Salazar was the big bad wizard everyone thought he was, and the sun shined out of Merlin’s arsehole.” Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes.

“ _Daphne_!” Hermione hissed, her eyes darting in the direction of Madame Pince’s desk, hidden away behind the rows of bookcases.

“What? I’m not the only one that think’s it’s stupid.” She sighed. “House Slytherin was well respected and powerful before it died out – _Gods_ , it was almost as powerful as House Potter in its day.” Daphne said, gesturing to Harry, who nodded silently as he sat back in his chair. “They were honourable, and there’s no documented reason as to why everyone calls Salazar a bigot.”

“He argued with Godric a lot.” Neville shrugged, tapping the page of his own book. “Godric’s banging on about Salazar now, actually – most of his entries are about, and I quote, ‘ _the up-jumped, spineless Wyrm_ ’.”

“That sounds awful.” Hermione grimaced, her face scrunching in distaste. “I thought they were all supposed to be friends.”

“It’s hard to get context from journals unless it’s explicitly explained.” Harry shrugged. “I know why he called him a Wyrm, though.”

Hermione looked at him, an eyebrow raised, while Daphne scoffed.

“His House Sigil – Slytherin’s Family Sigil was a Wyrm. I forget the colours, though.”

“Trust Potter to know the crest of a dead family.” Daphne teased, returning to her own book, her chin propped up on her palm as she absently turned the page.

“Five points to Gryffindor!” Tracey grinned impishly, causing Harry to chuckle, and Hermione to smile to herself. Despite knowing him for over a year, Harry continued to surprise her – she grinned and bumped his shoulder as she looked back at the page in front of her.

_My only wish, especially in these dark times, is that we could remain steadfast in our goal to bring education and security to those around us, that otherwise would have been left to the world, doomed and destined to fade into obscurity, shunned by their fearful peers._

_I digress – today has been long and heart-breaking._

_We four set out to create something truly, deeply wonderful, and I fear the tapestry we sought to create has begun to unravel; the threads coming undone, no matter how we might try to stop the catastrophe._

_Salazar and Godric came to blows in the Great Hall during the evening meal – two students wept and required consoling after the harsh words, and Godric, much as I care for him, drew his blade. It was frightful, and truthfully, has left me more shaken than I care to record even for posterity._

Hermione gasped; her eyes large as she looked up from the book. “Godric drew his sword on Salazar!”

“Seriously?” Neville blinked, leaning around Harry.

“That’s what it says – I doubt Rowena had any cause to lie in her own journal.” Hermione.

“That would explain why he apparently never returned.” Daphne murmured, pursing her lips slowly. “Can’t say I’d react too well to being held at sword-point.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Harry huffed, rolling his eyes.

“She might beat you again.” Neville snickered, and Harry clipped him around the back of the head with his hand. “Right – can’t have that.” The boy mumbled, rubbing his head.

“How many people do you think have read these?” Tracey asked after a moment, stifling a yawn. “They’re not page-turners, after all.”

“Not sure – who have you got?” Daphne asked, leaning over, and trying to peer at the scrawl on the page. “Oh – Hufflepuff. Better luck next time.”

“I’ve got Gryffindor.” Neville shrugged.

“Me too.” Daphne nodded, and everyone looked to Harry.

“Slytherin.” He muttered. Hermione blinked, not quite sure why she was surprised – she had simply assumed he would have gone for Gryffindor. After all, wouldn’t it have been the most amusing? Or at the very least, perhaps even full of bawdy comments – everything that Hermione had ever read about the man had painted him as a powerful warrior and wizard, but also a larger than life character. It had always been hard for her to decipher fact from fiction when it came to that man.

Daphne hummed and shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly.

“Okay, I know that noise.” Harry grunted, and Daphne smirked.

“I’m just surprised, Potter.”

“We can swap if you’d like, but you’d miss half of what it says.”

“Why would she miss half?” Tracey asked tiredly, frowning slightly. “Besides the words blurring together.” She added, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Harry glanced around them, and Hermione found herself mimicking his glances – the room was still empty, and from what she could tell, they were alone. Regardless, Harry leaned forward onto the table, his body covering the pages of Slytherin’s journal, hiding the words from sight.

“I’ve told you a little about Parseltongue, right?”

“Not that much of it made much sense.” Neville muttered; his voice equally as low. Frankly, Hermione found the whole talent wonderfully fascinating, though it irked her that it wasn’t a gift she could learn – how interesting must snakes be to talk to.

“Well, I told you guys that it’s an oral thing, right? There’s no books on it or anything of the like?”

They all nodded slowly.

“The journal is _dripping_ with magic – I can feel it like I can feel any of you. I’m getting a real sense of Slytherin as a wizard from reading it. If that makes sense?”

“Not even a little.” Tracey said warily, her eyes darting to the book beneath his arms.

“I think it’s _Parselmagic_ – I can’t explain it any better than that. Here, read this bit.” He said, quickly glancing around again before spinning the book on the table and tapping to a spot on the parchment. Hermione cocked her head, twisting her body to try and see what he was pointing at, but there was nothing out of the ordinary – though she had to admit that Salazar’s penmanship was _atrocious_.

“It’s just a passage about the Dark Forest.” She said, looking up at him.

“That’s the genius of it – the magic is in the _ink_!” He gushed excitedly – she hadn’t seen him this excited in a long time. “While I’m reading the same words, I’m hearing others too – in _Parseltongue_!”

“It sounds fascinating – it’s nothing dangerous though, right?” She asked, worriedly.

Harry pressed his lips together tightly and fidgeted in his seat. “Nothing so far – he talks a lot about,” Harry paused, his eyes darting to Daphne and Neville. “Some things to do with his family – _places_ they went to and the like, but nothing to be worried about so far. I can’t imagine there’d be anything in here that could be harmful – wouldn’t Dumbledore have done something about it?”

“What if he doesn’t know? He’s not a Parselmouth, right?” Tracey muttered. “I feel like the more we look, the more dangerous things get, and my mum always said never to trust anything that talks back to you if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.”

“It _is_ getting more dangerous the longer it goes on, and not just for us.” Daphne hummed, chewing on her cheek. “With Rivers attacked last month and now a member of the _staff_? I’m surprised we don’t have escorts.”

“I’d forgotten about Professor Cantrill.” Tracey murmured, eyes falling to the desk.

“Madame Pomfrey’s taking good care of her – it’s all anyone can do right now. Her fiancé comes in to visit her. He seems nice.” Harry shrugged; his voice quiet as he glanced back down at the book. Hermione smiled sadly and gripped his hand under the table – their fingers interlocking naturally in a way that made Hermione feel like her heart was beating a mile a minute.

“We’ll figure this out.” Daphne smiled, her shoulders squaring as she looked around at the group.

“Aye – we won’t say anything about you hearing voices from a book either.” Neville grinned, causing Harry to cringe.

“You make it sound like I’m half mad.” He said, elbowing the other boy, who just snickered as he went back to his book.

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand, and quickly buried her nose back in Rowena’s journal, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the grin that threatened to spread across her face – Harry hadn’t let go!

_I understand Salazar’s concerns, in truth. Those born without the gift often wage war among themselves around the borders of our lands, and, though he is not a native to these parts, he fears for our safety. Perhaps it would have been safer to construct the school on our own lands, where the threat of Muggles was not quite so dire – perhaps, not so many years ago, we should have listened to Salazar._

_In truth, for all that I am vaunted for my wisdom, and my value for intelligence, I know not the correct path – there are too many possibilities, too many variables._

_I fear for the repercussions of tonight’s events, for Salazar may do something rash. I have confined Godric to his tower, where he can vent his anger in safety – the protections of Hogwarts will keep him safe and provide many an item to break and smash in the room that comes and goes as it will._

_Godric will bellow and sulk on the morrow about my chasing after Salazar, though I wonder how he will react when he discovers that I lost him entirely in the room we arranged for our descendants? Even now, many hours after the sun has set, and with my candles burning low, I know not of how he did it. Something to think on for another time._

_The fracturing of our fellowship is something I find that weighs heavily on my heart, but none so much as the heartbreak I weep for a girl that will lose her father, and Salazar a daughter, for after tonight’s events, there will be no reconciliation between the two men._

_I pray that this does not mark the end for Hogwarts after such a tumultuous road, and I pray for the strength to hold my head high as the sun rises tomorrow. For now, my eyes ache, and my body longs for sleep._

“Guys – do you know if Salazar had any children? Specifically, a daughter?” She asked, looking between Harry, Daphne, and Neville – the three glanced up from their books and frowned.

“No – his house went extinct about two or three centuries later, right? Salazar wasn’t even the Lord – he was a third son, I think?” Neville frowned, looking between Daphne and Harry.

“Sounds about right from what I know – why?” Harry asked, his head tilting to the side. “Did Rowena say something?”

“She mentions a few things, but yeah, there’s a mention of Salazar having a daughter at Hogwarts around the time of the argument.” She nodded, spinning the book, and tapping the spot on the page. Everyone scrambled to read it, their eyes darting back and forth, tracing the ink.

“Wonder why Rowena’s commenting on it?” Tracey murmured. “Wait, you don’t think…?” She added, glancing at the others.

“Think what?” Hermione asked, looking around at the four.

Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose before massaging her forehead. “Rowena had one daughter – Helena Ravenclaw. What a lot of people often forget is that Helena was an acknowledged bastard – Helena Nighean, of House Ravenclaw.”

“Could she have been Salazar’s?” Hermione gasped, eyes darting to the page and back again.

“Honestly, I could care less – there’s so much in these books that goes against what is generally known, or at least, assumed, that it’s giving me a headache, and frankly, we don’t need to be unearthing thousand year old secrets right now.” Daphne groaned, and everyone else nodded slowly.

“I’ve never heard of this place.” Neville muttered, tapping the page a little above where Hermione herself had indicated – specifically, the part about a room for their descendants.

“Me neither.” Tracey shrugged. “Do you think it’s a hidden chamber somewhere? Like their sanctuaries?”

“Maybe – but the only place I know has anything to do with the descendants of the Founders is-“ Harry began slowly, releasing her hand and stretching with a groan.

“The _Trophy Room_.” Hermione finished, glancing at Harry. “There are alcoves specifically for awards given to members of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor’s families – they each have a statue and everything.”

“Might be a good place to start – especially if he disappeared around there like Rowena mentioned.” Daphne nodded, pursing her lips. “It’s as good a lead as any for now.”

The sound of heavy boots approaching made them all look up and turn around to the source of the noise, and Hermione had to quickly cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

There, walking toward them in a white satin toga, with enchanted wings strapped to its back, was a Dwarf, large, bushy beard, and face tattoos, carrying a harp with a definite put-out expression. He looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Right, which one of ya wee ones is,” The Dwarf paused, glancing at a small scroll. “Potter?”

“Oh _Merlin_!” Harry groaned, burying his head in his arms on the table.

“Look laddie, I’d rather be anywhere but here right now, so buck up and let’s get this over with.” The Dwarf grunted, strumming the strings idly with his large, meaty fingers. Hermione couldn’t help herself – she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as she fell into Harry’s side, tears running down her face.

The others were likewise occupied in attempting to remain in their seats, and Harry had turned a hilarious shade of red. The Dwarf cleared his throat and plucked the first notes.

“His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard – _by the Stone_ this is terrible.“ He sang, pausing only to grimace at the parchment and offer a sympathetic look to Harry. “I wish he-“

“Stop!” Harry cried, reaching into his pocket. “ _Merlin_ , just stop – here, if I give you this will you go away?” He pleaded, thrusting a handful of Galleons toward the Dwarf.

“Aye – that’ll do, laddie. Tell ye what, how about you throw in another Galleon, and we’ll never speak of this again, ey?”

“ _Gods_ , yes!” Harry grunted, shoving the final golden coin at the stranger.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ye.” The Dwarf grinned, his teeth barely visible through the thick beard. Spinning on his heel, the creature disappeared with a jaunty whistle and a spring in his step.

“Oh, _Merlin_ , I think I pissed myself.” Neville moaned, clutching his stomach – he glanced down quickly. “No, we’re alright. Oh, _Gods_ , that was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“ _Merlin_ , I hate Valentine’s.” Harry cried, and despite it all – Hermione couldn’t stop the giggling that wracked her body.

As much as she had been dreading the day, she couldn’t help but admit that it was the most fun she’d had with her friends in a long time.


	33. Harry XXI

The fifth of March was a pleasant day – the sun was shining, the birds were singing as they flittered about the Hogwarts grounds, students were able to venture outside after classes without getting soaked to the bone.

For Harry, it felt like any other Friday, and he’d had a fairly productive day. It had started with _Charms_ , where Professor Flitwick had taught them the basics of _Finite_ , a spell that could counter most charms and transfiguration spells. While they hadn’t progressed to the practical side of the spell quite yet, he thought he had the basic theory down well enough to give it a solid effort.

Double _Herbology_ had followed Flitwick’s class, and it had been a practical class on the caring for _Mandrakes_ – specifically, the ones that would be used in the creation of the potion that would be administered to those that had been petrified throughout the year. Each student had been as careful and serious with the Mandrakes as possible, and only one student had needed to visit Madame Pomfrey – fellow Gryffindor Oliver Parker hadn’t worn his earmuff’s properly and the plants’ screaming had caused him to pass out.

He’d been lucky – the scream from a mature Mandrake could kill.

After lunch, where Hermione had been rather smug about duelling him to a draw the night before, it was double _Alchemy_ , another practical lesson, and the last of the day. He had sat with his friends, as he always did, and they focused on the process of transmuting a feather to stone – though what practical application that could achieve was beyond his comprehension.

Still, he considered the class a success – only three cauldron’s had exploded, and none of them had been because of Seamus!

Pansy Parkinson’s had been the first. They had been working away, only for the shrill cry of, “Get down!” sent them all scrambling under the desks. When the debris had stopped raining down around them, they had all slowly edged out from beneath the long workstations and dared to look around. Pansy had been lucky, for a small crater was carved into the floor where her station had been.

Dean Thomas had been second, though his hadn’t been quite so violent – it was tiny, in comparison. Just a minor flash of light, and his face had been covered in a sickly green ichor.

The last had surprised him – Hannah Abbott. She was usually one of the better students in the subject, and had rarely had anything go wrong while brewing, or even applying her practical work. Hers had exploded quite similarly to Pansy’s, only her cloud had been a deep violet – and her station was much closer to his and his friends than Pansy’s had been.

The rest of the class had gone rather smoothly, with Professor Saller not even assigning any homework for the weekend – an event that had all of the students silently cheering.

After class, while everyone went and did their own thing – his friends disappeared to the Library to continue their search and he had wandered off to his session with Micca. It had been another interesting lesson, though, vexingly, he still struggled to consciously speak Parseltongue – something that vexed him intensely.

He usually sat with Micca in the _Magical Languages_ classroom, meditating while she instructed him one way or another. While he had shared details of his lessons with his friends, there was much he _couldn’t_ tell them – there was so much about Parseltongue that was _feeling_.

Snakes, generally, were not an emotive species, and instead relied on expressing themselves through magic, which is where the true beauty of the skill lay. There was something incredibly profound about knowing how a snake truly felt, beyond hearing the words. It broke his heart that so many considered it a staple of Dark Lords.

Today, Micca had introduced him to a wonderful _Sapphire Anaconda_ – it had easily been the largest magical snake Harry had ever seen, though his experiences had been limited to those that had Familiars and the young that were in _Magical Menagerie_.

Her size had been staggering and he’d initially expected Professor Kettleburn, or Hagrid to burst into the room in an attempt to introduce her to a class. She was almost as long as Hagrid was tall, and her body was so thick that he had only just been able to wrap his arms around her.

Her name was Jenei, and she had been a wonderful conversationalist, though – her quick wit had often left him scrambling to keep up, and her scales had been beautiful to look at, shimmering in the fading sunlight that peeked in through the large windows along the wall.

She had told him of her home, and of her wizard – a friend of Micca’s from Asia who had met Jenei when travelling the Americas. He spent several hours simply chatting to the snake, and while he knew that she could easily crush him with her body, she had been nothing but sweet and gentle with him.

It was nice to hear of her and her wizard’s travels and even to hear of other Parselmouths that she had come into contact with. He had smiled as she’d threatened to devour the whole school for shunning a _Speaker_ so foolishly – even Micca had laughed, despite her attempt to remain the responsible teacher.

In truth, the three of them had lost track of time – their usual one-hour session had ended up stretching into three. Micca had been sitting cross-legged opposite him on the floor, and Jenei had curled her body up behind Harry, encouraging him to recline on her so she could comfortably rest her wide, arrow-shaped head on his chest.

Before they had parted ways, Jenei had expressed a desire to visit him again – something he quickly agreed to, and even offered to introduce her to his own Familiars, Clara and Hedwig. She had visibly perked up when he mentioned Clara being a Phoenix, and it seemed humans weren’t the only ones they left in wonder.

Micca had left first, Jenei wrapped around her body with a spell to reduce her weight, while he had remained behind to tidy the room – and to dust the snake-tracks off of his uniform. The room had been kept relatively undisturbed, only the occasional chair or table out of place from Jenei exploring the many corners before he had arrived.

He smiled, thinking of his new serpent friend. One of the first things Micca had shown him was her own snake Familiar, Asclepius, a small Asian Vine Snake that was always wrapped around Micca’s wrist – almost like jewellery. The little, bright turquoise serpent had a remarkably sized personality for one so small, and its bright orange eyes, with their horizontal black slits were remarkably perceptive.

Though, he’d be the first to admit that he struggled to remain serious with Asclepius – the first time he had met her, she had inched out of Micca’s sleeve, and the way she had peered at him down her nose made her look as if she were squinting and displeased with him. Even now, with nobody around but himself, he snickered at the memory.

The door opened behind him, and he looked over his shoulder – his left hand stopping half-way through dusting off his chest, while his right flicked his wand into his hand.

Tensions had remained high throughout the school, and more than one student had attempted to corner himself and Neville over the year. The last attempt had been only a week ago, and Harry had hesitated in defending himself – after all, there were six of them, and only himself and Neville.

It had been a short scuffle, and they’d barely managed to get away, but at least he’d broken the nose of the Slytherin ring-leader. That the group had been composed of sixth-year students from all four Houses saddened him.

“Potter.” Lilith Kullens said evenly, her arms folded across her chest, her long fingers tapping rhythmically on her uniform sleeves. Harry took a deep breath and regarded her warily – her family were known to have supported Voldemort and were often the most vocal in their demands against the Muggle-born.

“Kullens.” He answered, raising a brow slowly. He kept his wand in his hand – he wasn’t about to be cursed without defending himself.

“We need to talk.” She said, stepping into the room properly and closing the door behind her with an audible click. Her long, dark hair flew wildly about her head as she turned – the thick tresses which were usually tied back neatly were loose and fell to the middle of her back. He didn’t even think Daphne’s hair was as long.

“So, talk.” He replied, walking casually behind one of the tables – at the very least, he could flip it for a quick bit of cover if he needed to.

“You’re a Parselmouth.” She said, stepping into the room in slow, lazy strides and pursing her lips. “And you just finished with your tutor.” The heels of her boots clicked against the flagstone floor.

“I can see why you’re a Ravenclaw.” Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. “Lilith, the entire school knows I’m a Parselmouth – it’s not exactly news.”

She said nothing, instead, her dark eyes simply bored into him and her jaw rolled side to side slowly. “You’re not behind the attacks.”

“Well done.” He muttered, throwing his arms out to the side.

“ _Ruhxu_ is.”

“What did you just say?” He demanded, his eyes snapping to hers instantly. He darted around the table in long strides. His coat remained forgotten on the table where he’d left it at the start of his lesson with Micca, but even without it, his shoulders became tense and the doublet he wore felt constricting and stifling.

Harry stepped so close, he was practically nose-to-nose with the girl – he had to give her credit, for she didn’t even so much as bat an eye. His wand flicked to her throat. “How do you know that name?” He hissed, his magic roiling beneath the surface.

“The same way you know it, I would assume.” She said, her eyes darting about his face as he stepped back slowly, his wand held steadily before him.

“You’re a Parselmouth.” He muttered, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His fingers shifted on his wand and he took a slow breath. “You’re the _Heir of Slytherin_?”

“ _Merlin_ , no!” Lilith spat, her face scrunching. “I’m just a Parselmouth. I’ve heard it a few times now, but I only realised when we heard it in the Great Hall at the same time.”

“So, why’s it taken you so long to mention it? Why not take it to a professor?”

“Get the wand out of my face, and I’ll tell you.” She scowled.

Harry frowned and ran his tongue over his teeth slowly. “Your family isn’t known for playing fair – why should I believe you won’t curse me in a heartbeat?”

“Seriously? You know what? _Fine_.” She snapped, flicking her wand into her hand, and tossing it in his direction – he caught it with his free hand, though he maintained his watchful gaze and placed the wand on the table behind him.

He tracked her carefully as she moved through the room, her blue-trimmed coat swishing about her legs as she moved to one of the tables on the far side of the room – a distance they were both keen to maintain. If she lunged to attack him, he would have time to react, and likewise, she wouldn’t be caught off-guard if he moved suddenly.

“I know better than most the reputation of my House, Potter.” She snipped, hopping up on the table behind her. “I would think you’d know better than to paint an entire family with the same brush.”

“House Black is _very_ different to Kullens.” He replied, fingering his wand at his side.

“On that, we can agree.” She nodded, kicking her feet idly. “When did you know you were a Parselmouth?”

“Why should I tell you?” He asked, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Besides our classes together, and your family’s reputation, I don’t know you, Lilith.”

“Have I ever made any comment about you? Or even laughed at your expense?”

“You haven’t, but that doesn’t mean shit and you know it.”

They were quiet for a time, their eyes locked across the distance between them – he could feel his eyes twitch as he reached out with his magic. She felt wild and chaotic – unpredictable – and that was what worried him the most.

“My family are bastards – each and every one of them.” She sighed, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling as she leaned back on her hands atop the desk. She folded her legs and shifted her weight to her left hip. “I hate them.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“Says the orphan boy.” She replied, glancing at him with a raised brow. “What do you know about parents beside what you’ve been told?”

“Careful, Lilith – don’t make Draco’s mistake.” He growled, narrowing his eyes. “I only just got done with those detentions – it’d be a shame to have to start them again.”

“You’re not nearly as intimidating as you think you are, Potter.” Lilith sighed, rolling her eyes. “I know enough about you to know how you’d follow up that threat with a _girl_.” She paused for a moment, and her eyes softened. “Draco was a kind boy, once – whatever _spiteful_ creature it was that you _did_ beat senseless, it had it coming.” She sniffed.

“Who says I won’t do the same to you?” He challenged, his muscles stiff.

“You do.” She scoffed. “You’re the honourable sort.” She shrugged.

He didn’t say anything to that, and just continued to glare at the girl. He shifted against the desk, resting his weight on the wood behind him and folded his arms across his chest, making sure to keep his wand arm on top and ready to react.

“Look – there’s no reason why we can’t get along.” She said after a while, the final rays of the sun making her almond skin appear almost golden for a moment before the last of the sun disappeared.

“In the time you’ve been in here, you’ve given me no reason to trust you, and _more importantly_ , you brought up my parents.”

“No, I simply reminded you that you don’t understand the concept of hating family.” She corrected, sitting up and resting her forearms on her knees. “You’ve no idea what my family are like, Potter – not a clue.”

“And you think I’ll share things about myself to you just because of that?” He laughed. “Come on Kullens, you should know better than that – you’re in Ravenclaw.”

“I’m in Ravenclaw, which is why I did my research – as best I can, given that we’re stuck in a castle for most of the year.” She smirked, sitting up. “I propose a simple trade – information for information.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head slowly. “If you think I’ll tell you anything about myself for information, you’re mad.”

“I don’t know – you don’t know what I know yet. Agree, and I’ll tell you everything first – in a show of goodwill.”

He pursed his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth again as he eyed her – he had no reason to distrust her other than ambushing him in this room and the reputation of her family. While he agreed her family were bastards, he admittedly knew little about Lilith – in fact, he hadn’t even known Lilith existed until he’d first attended Hogwarts, which was rare as far as children of Lords went.

“On one condition – I can refuse to answer, and your information had better be _exceptional_ before I even _consider_ answering in the first place.” He said finally, ignoring the triumphant smirk.

“ _Ruhxu_ is a Basilisk.”

“I know.”

“You _do_?” She frowned, glaring at him. “There’s no way you could have known that – I had to dig through fifteen volumes on the Founder’s to even get a _hint_ of it!” She cried, throwing her arms in the air.

“You realise I’m friends with Tracey Davis – someone _mad_ on creatures – and Hermione Granger, right?” He snorted, smirking. “Try again.”

“How about the fact that it was _Hagrid_ that was expelled and had his wand snapped for opening the _Chamber_ last time?” She replied smugly.

Harry blinked in surprise – he hadn’t heard anything about that. The gentle giant that cooed over Clara every time he saw her had been held responsible? It didn’t make sense! Hagrid was one of the kindest people he knew within Hogwarts – in fact, outside of Hope and McGonagall, he had made the largest effort to ask after him in class. For that alone, Harry liked him – Clara liked him mostly for how he spoiled her rotten.

“Bullshit.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh no, he was accused, all right.” Lilith smirked. “Shortly after Myrtle Warren was found dead in the second-floor girl’s bathroom – turned in by one of the Slytherin Prefects, if you’d believe it.”

“True or not – do you _really_ think this will get me to tell you _anything_ about my experience as a Parseltongue?”

“I think it a fair trade – after all those hours you’ve spent in the library with your friends, you never once found out about this.”

He flicked his wand into its holster and levelled Lilith with a look – he truly wasn’t sure what to make of the Ravenclaw. Cornering him in the classroom, she seemed as bold as a Gryffindor, and if what she said about Hagrid was true, she was as resourceful as a Slytherin, and more than earned her place within Ravenclaw.

“You get _one_ question.” He said after a time, huffing out a breath as he strummed his fingers against his arms. “If I don’t like it, you don’t get another one.”

“I want to join your Parseltongue tutoring sessions.” She said immediately, making him blink. Her words had been louder than any other time she’d spoken, and they had tumbled from her mouth as if she’d been holding them in the entire time. Her shoulders heaved as she gulped in mouthfuls of air.

“You want to _what_?” He asked, dumbly.

“You heard me, Potter.” She answered him – there was a desperate glint to her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before, or perhaps, she hadn’t allowed him to see it. She hopped off the table and approached him slowly. “Look, you don’t know me – that’s fine, I understand that. I’m a Kullens, and you’re a Potter – you have no reason to trust me – but I _hate_ my family. I want nothing to do with them, and they want nothing to do with me. What do you think they’d do if they found out I was a Parselmouth?”

“From what I know about your father? Groom you to become the next big thing after Voldemort.” He grunted, ignoring the way she flinched visibly at the mention of his name. “His own personal _Dark Lady_.”

“I’d rather die.” She sniffed, standing taller. She was shorter than Harry – of a similar height to Daphne and Hermione, though her thick hair seemed to add an extra inch in there somewhere. “I want to explore my magic, _all_ of my magic, and become the best witch I possibly can, but I will _not_ become some puppet for that man.”

“You realise Parseltongue has no benefit to spells other than casting in a language nobody can understand, right?”

“It doesn’t matter – he’ll see it as a sign that he can use me for his own ends.” Lilith snarled, her fists clenching at her sides. “My brother too.”

Harry scratched at his cheek absently as he took her in – gone was the confident, confrontational girl that had appeared in the doorway to the classroom, replaced by the desperate one whose eyes shined with unshed tears. “I can’t imagine you _just_ want to join my sessions.”

“I swear, that’s all I want. I don’t want your protection if that’s what you think.” She replied. “You’re powerful Potter, but you’re still just a _child_.”

Harry made a noise in the back of his throat and ran his hand through his loose hair. He’d long-since untied it and tucked the leather tie into his coat pocket. He rubbed absently at his scalp near the base of his neck, privately relishing the sensations as he thought over the girl before him.

He pursed his lips; his mind counting the benefits and the potential risks as best he was able. It was true, their families had never gotten along in the past – the Kullens were very much a believer in the old ways of their world, of the subjugation of those they deemed lesser. While House Potter had its own dark and bloody history, they had always held themselves by their honour, and treated those they ruled over fairly.

The two families had clashed in the Wizengamot more than once, and Harry had even found an old journal of some distant cousin that had mentioned punching one of the Kullens some two hundred years ago.

Never before had he heard of someone in that House feel that way about their own blood. The Kullens were a notoriously private family, with little ever escaping their walls about their inner politics – to have Lilith break that tradition in such a spectacular way as she had…

He chewed on his bottom lip before nodding sharply once. “I don’t trust you in the slightest, and if this is some trick to injure or threaten either myself, my family, or friends, I’ll deal with you myself – is that understood?”

“I understand.” Lilith nodded, a tear from each eye slowly tracking their way down her cheeks as she fought to contain her smile. “I-“ She tried, only to stop and take a quick breath. “ _Thank you_ , Harry.”

Harry shrugged and picked her wand up from behind him – he glanced at it a little more closely. It was shorter than his own by a little over an inch, and the obsidian wood resembled the Blackthorn of his own. He handed it to her carefully, his eyes watching her for any sudden movement, his body tense and ready to throw himself to the side if need be.

Lilith nodded at him and pocketed the wand before turning toward the door – he watched her go silently, still not quite sure what to make of her. As the door closed behind her, he shook his head and turned toward the window.

The sun had long-since set, and the evening meal would be in full swing – he clasped his hands at the small of his back, with his legs a shoulder-width apart and closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic to feel his friends. He brushed against them in an attempt to reassure them – he was forceful enough so they would feel him without a doubt, but not so much that they would be worried.

In all, the experience took only a handful of seconds, and when he opened his eyes once again, he swept them across the many lights he could see that dotted the castle grounds. The warm, orange hues of candlelight flickered proudly out of each window, with the full moon sitting high in the sky above the forest.

A light swung lazily back and forth as it emerged from the treeline by Hagrid’s hut. In truth, it didn’t take him more than a second to make up his mind, and as he spun on the spot, he called for his Phoenix. When she appeared almost instantly, he grinned as he stroked her feathers, and laughed when she nipped at his sleeve.

“Hello girl.” He murmured, trailing the backs of his fingers down her neck and along her breast. “I need you to do me a favour before you go hunting – can you do that?”

She cawed softly and stood a little taller, her little chest puffing out proudly as she peered at him down her beak. “I need my cloak – can you get it for me? It’s hanging next to my armour.”

She spread her wings and tilted her head as she burst into flame, and in a heartbeat, she was gone. Harry stared at the spot she had occupied only moments before as he waited for her to return, only when she did, she was in the air, flapping her wings powerfully with his father’s cloak in her talons. He grinned and accepted the cloak from her, offering his thanks as he did.

She didn’t wait after that, disappearing in another, final burst of flame, leaving the room feeling that little bit darker and empty. Harry wasn’t afraid of the dark – he never had been, after all, what did he have to fear? He was a wolf, and it was in the dark that they prowled.

He threw his coat over his doublet, and then tossed the cloak over his head – the thin material still allowing him to see his surroundings.

Hurrying out the door, he made sure that it clicked quietly behind him – while the meal was still going on, being caught wandering the halls, by Filch in particular, always led to at least one detention – and students were _never_ permitted to leave the main castle at night.

He hurried down to the ground floor, taking the steps two at a time – his coat and cloak both fluttering around his legs as he moved. His wand, he knew, was secured in its holster, and, in the unlikely event that he lost his wand – his dagger was always tucked into his right boot.

It was strange to think that he may need it in the unlikely event that Hagrid _was_ responsible for the attacks – not that he believed it in the slightest, the man was one of the most gentle beings he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. Still, it paid to be prepared.

He left the castle through the main entrance, opening the main door the smallest amount and squeezing through the gap – though just before he fully went through, he paused long enough to glance into the Great Hall, where the meal was in full-swing. He caught sight of Hermione’s head of hair, and Neville sat across from her – both laughing happily. From the lack of dark hair, he assumed both Slytherin girls were at their own table.

He passed through the rest of the way with a smile, glad to see his friends enjoying themselves. He made his way down to Hagrid’s, crossing the large, rickety covered bridge that covered the path from the castle. The cloak flapped about him in the howling wind, and more than once, he had to throw out a hand to stop it flying away in the breeze.

When he finally made it to the door of the hut – the Whomping Willow had thankfully ignored him on his way down – he could hear the deep barks of Fang through the door, even as the windows rattled in their frames. He knocked twice, heavily, and licked his lips anxiously as he heard Hagrid’s heavy footfalls on the other side.

The giant of a man opened the door slowly, a loaded crossbow held steadily in one hand while his dark eyes darted back and forth. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Harry slid the cloak from over his head and looked between the crossbow bolt that was levelled – unintentionally – between his eyes, and the man in the door.

“’Arry? Blimey, scared me half t’death you did! What’yer doin’ out ‘ere at this time?” Hagrid cried, blinking down at him. He glanced around once more before ushering him into the small abode with a large, meaty hand.

“Any reason for the crossbow?” He asked, warily eyeing the weapon as Hagrid set it in the corner. Fang panted happily as Harry grinned at him, rubbing the large dog between the ears.

“Oh, I was expectin’,” Hagrid murmured, only to halt and clear his throat. “Well, I suppose it doesn’ mat’er.”

Fang’s tail thumped against the arm of the large chair he was curled up on, and for the first time since entering, since it was the first time that he’d ever been inside the small hut, Harry allowed his eyes to roam the interior. He’d often wondered how such a large man could fit comfortably in something so small and squat.

All around the room, and even hanging from the ceiling itself, were cages upon cages for all sorts of animals. By one wall, there was a huge pile of firewood for the large hearth that took up the far wall, and a large table and chairs dominated the centre of the room. On the other side of the table, there was a small wall with a large oak door – no doubt Hagrid’s bedroom.

“I jus’ put on a cup o’ tea – want some?” Hagrid offered, lifting the heavy iron pot from the hook by the fire, steam wafting steadily from its spout.

“If it’s not too much bother.” Harry smiled, balling the cloak up in his arms. “Expecting someone, then?” He asked, pointing to the crossbow as he hopped onto a chair, his feet only just touching the floor.

“Oh, nothin’ t’be worried about. Bet’er safe than sorry, ‘ey? Wha’ brings you out ‘ere anyway – shouldn’t you be eatin’?”

“I wasn’t hungry, but I wanted to ask you something.” Harry began, noting the way Hagrid’s hands trembled as he poured the tea into the small china cup. He glanced up at Hagrid, who was almost sweating in his nervousness. “What do you know of Myrtle Warren?”

Hagrid’s eyes darted to his own, and the large man stumbled back as if he’d been struck. Harry grimaced at the pained look on the man’s face.

“Where did you ‘ear that name?” Hagrid muttered, his face pale behind his dark hair and thick beard.

“I found it – in a book.” He cringed internally at the lie. “It said she was the last person to die in the school, you know, the _last_ time the _Chamber_ was opened.”

Hagrid placed the kettle on the floor and slumped into the chair across from him, his face buried in his large hands. “She was a Ravenclaw, an’ died in the girl’s bathroom, apparently. I felt somethin’ awful when I ‘eard about tha’. I don’t know ‘ow he got out – I always made sure the box was locked tight!”

Harry frowned and shifted in his chair. “Who’s _he_?”

“ _Aragog_ , o’course!” Hagrid sniffed, running his hands down his face. “’E was tiny back then – just the size of my ‘and.”

“It wasn’t a snake, was it?”

“Wha’? _No_!” Hagrid blinked, shaking his head furiously. “He’s an _Acromantula_ – a spider.”

“He’s still _alive_?” Harry gasped, gripping the edge of his seat – _Acromantulas_ were incredibly dangerous, and _heavily_ regulated. It wasn’t just their large size that made them dangerous, but their intelligence, thick exoskeleton, and their colonies that could number in the _hundreds_. Harry didn’t consider himself scared of spiders, but the thought of an _Acromantula_ …

Hagrid nodded sullenly. “Aye, livin’ in the forest.”

Harry glanced at the dark trees through the far window and swallowed nervously. He’d always thought the forest eerie in the moonlight – but now it felt that much more terrifying, for an _Acromantula_ wouldn’t think twice about hunting a human. “Hagrid – he didn’t kill Myrtle.”

The large man stilled and peered at him curiously. “Why would you say tha’?”

“Because I think I know what did, and _Aragog_ would have eaten her if he had.” Harry muttered, just loud enough for the Groundskeeper to hear. Harry shivered as he thought he saw a shadow move beyond the trees, though it was likely nothing more than a trick of the moonlight and the wind. “And I don’t think you’re a Parselmouth either.”

“A _Parselmouth_?” Hagrid gasped, wide-eyed. “Not in my wildes’ dreams! Fascinatin’ creatures, snakes are.”

Harry smiled at the man, who just moments ago had such a dejected and defeated look on his face, who now was smiling in wonder as he stared at the wall distantly, no doubt thinking of all the wonderful things he could ask snakes. “I’m sorry you got blamed for it.”

Like someone had flipped a switch, Hagrid returned to the present, and smiled sadly. “Dumbledore ne’er believed Riddle – the lad tha’ found me with Aragog – an’ hired me after they snapped me wand. Great man, Dumbledore – _great_ man.”

“I’m sorry they snapped your wand – I can’t imagine having mine snapped.” He muttered, his thumb absently trailing up and down his right forearm as he thought about the piece of wood with one of Clara’s feathers in it. “It’d be like losing a piece of myself.”

Hagrid shrugged. “They let me keep the parts – don’ tell no-one, but I used it t’make me umbrella over there – see?” Hagrid grinned impishly, his cheeks turning a deep red as he nodded toward the umbrella propped up against the corner. Harry grinned back at him.

“I won’t tell a soul.” He promised. “Can you tell me about the Prefect who turned you in?”

“Aye – Tom Riddle was ‘is name.” Hagrid muttered, a dark look sweeping across his features. “Sixth year Slytherin lad at the time – quiet, an a powerful one to boot. Never heard nowte abou’ him after ‘e graduated, come ter think of it.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned, finally taking a sip of his tea. “In a school this large, it’s normal to have people fade away – surely.”

Hagrid shook his head slowly, his eyes becoming distant again. “Not this one – there was somethin’ about ‘im. Who knows – maybe _You-Know-Who_ got ‘im, or he booked it out of the country.”

“What do you mean?”

Hagrid took a deep breath and shifted in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him under his weight. “Yer can always get a sense o’ someone by their magic – one of the firs’ things they teach. Somethin’ about Tom rubbed me wrong the nigh’ he found me wi’ Aragog – it were like this, honestly.” Hagrid said, nodding absently toward the castle through the window. “Students attacked all year, petrified in the ‘alls.”

“You think Tom knew something?” Harry frowned, tilting his head. Hagrid shook his head and shrugged a shoulder.

“Not a clue – bu’, ‘e shoulda known tha’ an _Acromantula_ doesn’t petrify people like tha’ – only a-“ Hagrid paused, his eyes wide as he jumped out of his chair. “ _A bloody Basilisk_!” He yelled, his chest heaving with each breath.

Harry jumped to his feet and held his hands out to calm the large man down – to the side, Fang barked loudly. “Hagrid, I know it’s a Basilisk, but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? _Calm down_? How am-“ Hagrid paused, Harry’s words slowly registering with him. “You _knew_?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Hermione figured it out around the time Colin was found. We’ve been looking for the _Chamber’s_ entrance ever since so we can tell Amelia and the D.M.L.E, otherwise they could be searching for _years_.”

“But-“

“Hagrid,” Harry said slowly, placing his hands on the large man’s wrists. “I’ve been hearing it ever since my first detention with Lockhart – it took Hermione to work it out. I thought I was going _mad_.” Harry smiled up at the man when his eyes softened at the mention of Hermione. “I need you to keep it to yourself though – the last thing anyone needs is a panic, don’t you think?”

Hagrid was silent for a time, his heavy breathing the only sound in the hut beside the crackling fire. Eventually, he nodded. “Alright, but you promise me that you’ll let Dumbledore know the _second_ you find it, y’hear?”

Harry nodded, and scrunched his nose as Hagrid mussed his hair. “Thanks, Hagrid.”

“Yer just like your Da’ – always gettin’ inta mischief. You keep tha’ ‘Ermione close – she’s a smart one, she is.” Hagrid paused and glanced around the room. “Basilisk’s ain’t t’be trifled with, ‘Arry – I mean that.”

Harry spent some time with the large man after that, and the two of them found themselves discussing far more pleasant topics, until eventually, Hagrid mentioned his favourite resident of Hogwarts – Harry’s Phoenix.

He grinned as the Groundskeeper barely refrained from bouncing in his large chair, and even Fang looked to be excited at the mention of her. It had gotten late in any event, and Harry had little desire to walk back to the castle in the dark, especially now knowing there was an _Acromantula_ in the forest – at least with the Basilisk, it would be instant and painless. With one of the large spiders – it could last _weeks_.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his Familiar Bond and felt Clara, flying around the mountains on the other side of Hogsmeade – she was alone, and already done with her hunt. Calmly, he called her to him, and not a moment later, the bright flash of light brightened the insides of his eyelids.

Fang barked merrily and hopped off the large chair, while Hagrid called out in delight and clapped his meaty hands together. “Oh, ‘ello Clara! Always a pleasure!”

Clara cawed and hopped onto the table, her long, smouldering tailfeathers trailing over the edge neatly. Harry ran his fingers down the feathers on her breast, and she nipped him affectionately on the knuckle of his thumb before nuzzling his cheek.

“Beau’iful,” Hagrid murmured. “Can’t say how glad I am t’see her, ‘Arry.”

“You’re welcome to see her any time – she likes the steaks you give her in class.” Harry grinned, watching as her black eyes darted the large man as her wings twitched. “Sometimes I think she likes you more than me.”

“Not above buyin’ her affection – ‘ere, I had a steak around here earlier.” Hagrid muttered, standing up and shuffling over to some cupboards that were recessed into the wall, the clattering of tins and jars filling the small hut for a few seconds before he returned to the table, juicy red steak held victoriously in his hand, wrapped in a white cloth.

Clara hopped forward twice, her head moving this way and that as her eyes tracked the meat. Harry knew her eating habits were demanding – everything he’d learned of Clara suggested she required lots of meat to maintain her strength and health. When Hagrid placed the steak on the table and pulled the cloth back, she tore at the meat with abandon – her sharp talons held it in place while her hooked beak shredded the meat into thin strips that she guzzled quickly, tossing her head back as it disappeared down her gullet.

Watching Clara devour her food had always fascinated Harry – perhaps it was simply because, despite being _his_ Familiar, he still knew so extraordinarily little about them. Even years later, it was still weird to find the gems that she would cough up after a particularly large meal – she’d coughed them up for _weeks_ after their stay at Arpton over the summer.

“Looks like she’s enjoying it.” Harry smiled slightly, rubbing Fang between the ears as the large dog rested his head in his lap, his eyes looking up at him pitifully. “You hungry, Fang? Is the mean fire-turkey eating all your food?” He cooed softly, running his hand down the back of the dog’s neck.

“Fine bird, she is – a big’un too.” Hagrid murmured, reaching out and softly stroking Clara’s neck as she paused and looked about the room, her black eyes darting this way and that. “When did she last burn?”

“She’s never burned ever since she matured.” Harry replied evenly, leaning back against the chair. Hagrid blinked and glanced between the Phoenix – who had stood a little taller, and Harry didn’t need his bond to feel the pride oozing from her.

“Truly?” Hagrid asked, and Harry simply nodded. “Well – you’re a lucky wizard, ‘Arry. Very lucky indeed.”

“Doesn’t feel like that when she’s in a mood.” He huffed, eyeing the Phoenix, who tilted her head smugly before snatching up the last of the steak. “Woke me up this morning by clipping me with her wings.”

“A mischievous one, she is.” Hagrid grinned through his beard. “Don’t think I ‘aven’t seen you pickin’ on that pathetic rat of Weasley’s.” He huffed, wagging a finger at the bird. “You know bet’er than to go for someone’s Familiar.”

“She wouldn’t eat it.” Harry shrugged. “She’s far too fussy an eater for that, aren’t you?” He muttered, letting her hop onto his shoulder – she’d taken a shine to his shoulder as a perch when in his room, or in the Common Room this year. Her presence also acted as a deterrent for many of the members of Gryffindor from bothering him and his friends.

Clara’s soft trills answered him as she nipped at the top of his ear, making him laugh.

“Glad ter see she makes y’happy, ‘Arry. Don’ think I didn’t notice ‘ow down ye were after the attacks began.”

Harry shrugged. “Madame Pomfrey gave me something to help with that around Christmas and being with Clara… helps.” He sighed, reaching up with a finger and scratching her under the chin. “Hedwig is great, but she’s far more delicate than Clara – I’m always worried I’ll hurt her.”

“Phoenixes are tough.” Hagrid nodded solemnly. “Hedwig’s just an’ owl – a ruddy good one at tha’, but just an owl.”

“She’s taken a shine to Hermione.” He commented, glancing at the large man. “I let Hermione use her for classes – didn’t seem fair to have two while she had none.”

“Aye, they’re good t’gether. Rare to ‘ave a Familiar accept another witch or wizard handlin’ them. Has she taken a shine to anythin’?”

“She keeps mentioning a Kneazle from _Magical Menagerie_ that she met over the Summer – a big ginger one, it was. I was thinking of getting it for Christmas but thought her parents might not like me for that one.” Harry shrugged as Fang huffed in his lap and nudged his hand with his nose.

“Best ter check with ‘er parents first, lad.” Hagrid grinned through his bushy beard. “Come on, you should get back to the school – it’s late enough as it is.”

Harry nodded and got to his feet as Fang plodded off back to his armchair – it was a little strange standing up and balancing the Phoenix on his shoulder, but after a moment of adjustment, he was fine. Hagrid handed him the cloak, which he’d placed on the table, and Harry smiled appreciatively.

“Thanks, Hagrid.” He smiled, looking up at the man, whose cheeks were rosy in the warmth of the hut as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Anytime, ‘Arry, anytime. Now, you’d best be off – I’ll bet curfews called any time now. An’ you remember,” Hagrid added as Harry rolled the cloak up. “The _second_ you get a whiff of where the entrance is, you go _straight_ to Dumbledore, y’hear?”

“I will.” Harry nodded, and not a moment later, he was consumed by the flames of Clara and found himself in his room – it was dark, and only lit by a small handful of candles, but it was his room.

Clara leapt from his shoulder and fluttered to her golden perch, and Harry quickly hung the cloak up next to the stand with his armour, making sure to smooth the creases out as his hands slid down it slowly.

He blinked, turning around and approached the tapestry that hung on his wall – his grandmother beamed up at him, her pearly-white teeth on full display as she looked at him proudly. He felt his heart flutter and a little of the weight he constantly felt on his shoulders wafted away.

His fingers drifted over her portrait, and she closed her eyes and almost leaned into his touch as they drifted over her. He ignored Cassiopeia, and the sneer she shot him, and instead focused on Arcturus.

Something in his chest constricted as the man looked back at him, his face full of pride and his shoulders square and powerful, every inch the man he knew Arcturus had been. Harry touched the picture, and Arcturus placed his hand against the pad of Harry’s finger, and in that moment, it felt like the man was across from him once again, gripping his shoulder and offering all the words of encouragement that he could.

It was like he was still alive.

Harry’s finger drifted down, ignoring Orion and Walburga, and brushed Sirius – his godfather smirking at him and nodding resolutely. Harry returned the nod and took a deep breath, clearing his throat and sniffing.

The last two months had been difficult, and they’d felt _strange_ in the absence of Arcturus – he spoke to Sirius more through the mirror than by owl these days, checking in each night and reassuring himself that he was still _there_. It was always in these quiet moments before bed that things came back to him – there were no distractions in his room that were worth his attention, and if there were, it would only serve to cause him grief in the morning.

He sighed and ran his hands down his face as he turned back to the bed, sliding his wand out of its holster and placing it on the bedside table, the handle angled toward the bed for him to quickly grasp if he needed.

It had been a long day, regardless of how he felt about the absence of Arcturus, and in the morning, Wood was bound to be banging on his door at an ungodly hour with the match against Hufflepuff scheduled.

* * *

Harry ran his hands down his face as he stepped into the domain of Madame Pomfrey – all around him, the gleaming, sterile surfaces of steel trays and carts glinted in the afternoon sun, and the many, _many_ jars and vials of potions stared back at him.

Many of the beds were occupied, of course, by the victims of _Ruhxu_ , frozen still in shock with expressions of terror on their faces as they stared unblinkingly back at him. At the far end of the room, one of the Hufflepuff Chasers was surrounded by their teammates as they sipped at some concoction that Pomfrey had no doubt ordered them to drink.

He didn’t know her name – the Hufflepuff Chaser – but he knew her to be a seventh year, and a devil on the broom. Only an hour before, he’d tried to intercept her plays on the Quidditch Pitch while he hunted for the Snitch – she’d collided with the stands just before the end of the game, avoiding the Bludger from Fred and George, and now here she was.

Gryffindor had tied for the match, and it would likely all come down to the match with Ravenclaw on who left this year with the Quidditch Cup – Oliver had already been making half a hundred different plans to take on the Eagles next term. He’d been a pain in his arse in the lead up to the Hufflepuff game, he didn’t want to think how he’d be leading up to that one.

Harry tore his eyes from the huddled Hufflepuff’s and focused on one bed in particular. He had showered in the locker room beneath the pitch, and he’d changed out of his gear and into his usual clothes – it was a Saturday, and there was no need for the uniform.

There, with her mouth open in shock but with a firm glint in her eyes, was the form of Professor Cantrill. Her dark hair was loose and framed her head on the pillow, shimmering in its glossiness in the light of the room. Her skin was pale, causing the red of her lips to stand out harshly in contrast – she looked so strange, laying there.

He took up the chair next to her bed and settled in comfortably, flicking open the journal in his hands – it was the book Sirius had gifted him in his first year about the Marauder names. It had felt _right_ , reading some of the scribbled notes between the pranksters to someone that had at least known them in passing. He’d considered bringing his mothers photo collection, but decided against it – after all, he wanted to at least feel like she’d be cheered up and not thrown into despair at the reminder of her lost friend.

He remained there for a while, quietly reading some ideas between James and Remus about Sirius’s name, when the quiet click of approaching steps drew his attention. He looked up and nodded at the sight before him – at the foot of the bed was Wesley Williams, Hope’s fiancé.

They’d met shortly after the woman was petrified – he’d rushed to the school the moment he’d heard, and for the first few hours, the two of them had sat at her side. Wesley was an accountant and owned a business in Canlams Plaza called _Williams and Mattingly_ , jokingly named for his Beagle Familiar – Harry had seen the pictures of it.

He was a fair man, soft spoken with a wicked sense of humour – it had been no wonder he and Hope had gotten along so well at Hogwarts, and later as adults. Wesley, or _Wes_ , as he preferred to be called, smiled at him, and nodded toward the book in his hands.

“Trying to get her to give you hints for your classes on Monday?” He asked, moving around to the far side of the bed, a small bouquet of red roses in his hand that he quickly placed in the empty vase – he brought them on each visit. They were her favourite, according to Wes.

“She was just about to tell me the secret to dealing with Snape.” Harry replied, glancing back at the woman in the bed. “Now you’re here, I’ll never get her to spill it.”

“Damn, you managed to get her to spill the beans on _that_? I might start thinking she likes you more than me.”

Harry snorted as the man sat down and gently cupped her frozen hand, running the pads of his fingers gently across the back of her hand. “I’m pretty sure you have me beat in that field.”

Wes flashed him a pearly-white grin, and his eyes crinkled in the corners in a way that made his eyes look darker in the shadow of his brow. “I should hope so – I’ve only been trying to put a ring on her finger for fifteen years.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from his chest – Wesley was a disarmingly funny man and had a way of putting Harry at ease that he hadn’t expected when they first met. He didn’t know why, or even _when_ he had adopted the assumption that Accountants were often dull and boring people that played with numbers all day, but the man across from him had quickly squashed that notion.

“Do you mind if I ask how you both met?” Harry asked, placing the book on the bed, and folding his legs as he reclined in the chair. “I don’t mean to pry, of course.”

Wes pursed his lips and shrugged easily. “I don’t mind.” He said. “We were in the same year at school – I was a Ravenclaw, and she was a Gryffindor, and very good friends with Lily, your mother.”

Harry nodded and wet his lips.

“If you ever tell her this next bit, I’ll deny it.” Wes smirked and leaned forward on his elbows, and Harry chuckled. “I first noticed her in second year. She thinks I didn’t notice her until fourth.”

“Who made the first move?” Harry asked, smiling.

“Neither of us, actually.” He shrugged. “We got pranked – by your dad, actually. The infamous _Marauders_ , terrors of staff and Slytherins alike.”

“What did he do?”

“The two of us got hit with a spell that stuck us both to a wall on our last rounds of the night – I think it was supposed to have been for the Slytherin Prefects, but we ended up taking their route last-minute. Spent the entire night stuck to a wall with nobody to talk to but each other.” Wesley shrugged with a chuckle as he rubbed his jaw. “We went to Hogsmeade the next weekend, and I’ve been chasing after her ever since.”

“I’m glad you have each other.” Harry smiled. “I’m just sorry she got attacked.”

“So am I.” Wesley muttered. “I hear her temporary replacement has been a bit of a nightmare.”

Harry grimaced, thinking of the man – he was the second son of some Spanish Lord, and walked around with all the confidence that came with it. Many of the girls in the school would giggle as he walked through the halls, his fine robes billowing in his wake. Frankly, Harry thought him arrogant, though he seemed capable.

“Aye – but he seems to know what he’s doing.” Harry shrugged; at least thankful he hadn’t had the option to pick his electives yet – something that wouldn’t happen until the end of his third year. “I’m hoping Hope wakes up quickly enough that he’s gone soon.”

Wesley chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll bet – I saw him with his Thunderbird on my way in, down by the edge of the forest.”

Harry shuddered.

“You alright there?”

“Just something I learned last night from Hagrid about it, is all.” He muttered in reply, wiping his face.

Wesley tilted his head curiously. “You’ve gone a little pale – I can get the matron, if you’d like?”

Harry waved a hand. “No, no, nothing like that. I just learned about something that lives in there is all.”

“Ah, one of those stories, was it? We used to think there was a den of Werewolves in there when I was a kid, and if you stayed out past curfew, they’d snatch you away.”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “I bet Sirius and my dad _loved_ that story.” He snickered, thinking of Moony’s reaction to the tale – how many times, he wondered, had they teased him over abducting students?

“I’m sure you get this all the time, but you look _just_ like him – it’s uncanny.”

“I have my mother’s eyes.” Harry smiled sadly. “I have a few photos of the three of us together, and it even surprises _me_.”

“They’d be very proud of you, I’m sure – I didn’t know them beyond in passing, but from everything I’ve experienced these few weeks, to what Hope would tell me over the Summer, they’d be _very_ proud of the man you’re turning into.”

Harry’s lips pressed tightly together, and he awkwardly shifted in his seat as he coughed into his fist. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Harry was simply content to watch Wes after that, as he made sure Hope was comfortable. He fluffed her pillows, adjusted her sheet and arranged her flowers before wandering over to Madame Pomfrey to ask about the treatment she was receiving – not that she could do much more for the professor than make sure she ate, drank, and was comfortable.

Sometimes, Harry couldn’t help but think that the Mandrakes were taking a spitefully long time to mature.

He had read up on the potion they were all going to receive, of course. What had surprised him was how _simple_ the potion was in theory – in practice, it was incredibly lucky that the key ingredients were being grown on the school grounds by Professor Sprout.

According to the book, which Hermione had found in, of course, the Library, any sort of magical interference with the harvested Mandrake would nullify the restorative properties – that meant Apparition to bulk order some immediately was out, as there was a very short, limited window between harvesting, and adding them to the potion. Two minutes, in fact. The entire potion would be brewed in the Greenhouses before carefully being transported to the Medical Wing – all by hand.

He sighed as he rubbed at his jaw. If her eyes weren’t open, Hope would simply appear as if she were asleep – it was disconcerting. At the very least, she hadn’t suffered pain, or even death – the memory of Justin still sat heavily in the hearts of those at Hogwarts.

How long he was left with her alone, he didn’t know – the noise had subsided within the room considerably, and when he glanced over his shoulder, the Hufflepuff’s were gone. He could hear the quiet murmurs of Wes and Madame Pomfrey coming from the direction of her office – the portrait of Tora smiled at him coquettishly and waved her fingers.

With a long exhale, Harry sunk into the magic around him and closed his eyes. He sank deeply within the currents and ripples of the school – like a lead weight in a pond. The deeper he sank, the more magic he wrapped around himself, like a favourite cloak that warmed him against the cold on a winter’s morning.

It was peaceful, entrenched so deeply, and wrapped so securely. In this state, disconnected from his body, he often felt untouchable, and the events of the world felt less concerning to him, though he always made sure that he could find his way back – it wouldn’t do for him to become separated from his body, doomed to an existence in the currents of magic and time.

Something in the back of his mind flared, and he could feel his magic react appropriately – there was _danger_. He slammed back into his body and blinked his eyes open rapidly. The sun was far lower than when it had been, and a number of tiles from the floor of the wing were floating around him, spiralling lazily through the air.

He wrestled his magic under control and got to his feet, his wand slapping into the palm of his hand as his eyes darted about rapidly. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t work out _what_ or _where_.

Stepping out into the main aisle between the rows of beds, he paced slowly, staring at the dark shadows in the corners of the room – in the back of his mind, the feeling continued to gnaw at him, while his magic _screamed_ for him to take action.

He spun on his heel as the doors were thrown open, and his wand was up and levelled before he could register _who_ it was.

He blinked in confusion at the sight of Headmaster Dumbledore, his blue eyes dark behind his half-moon glasses, and his pallor pale – almost matching his white beard and hair. His robes swished around his rapidly moving legs, and half a dozen members of staff followed behind him, all crowded around a dark figure that lay horizontal, floating through the air.

Another victim.

He lowered his wand and was just about to turn back to the reason for his visit, when he caught a glimpse of familiar brown hair.

His step faltered, and his legs buckled beneath him as his stomach lurched painfully. He gripped the bottom of Hope’s bed so hard, the metal groaned. His entire body thrummed with magic, and he felt the world dim around him.

 _Hermione_.

Harry stumbled forward, pushing away from the professor’s bed, and forced himself between the larger bodies of the staff – he registered McGonagall, Flitwick, Lockhart, Morris – the Professor that taught _Warding_ to the NEWT students – Professor Gillen, a portly, bald man that always smelled of perfume that taught _Mind Arts_ , and Professor Twinkle.

The adults around him whispered harshly between themselves, though he barely paid any attention to their words – he did catch something about being found near the Trophy Room. He stepped up to her side and knelt by the side of the bed – her head was turned to the side, and her hand held a mirror in front of her face.

He felt sick, seeing the wide-eyed stare as she looked through him, and his stomach clenched at the way her mouth hung open, mid-gasp. Her cheeks were pale, looking almost like porcelain, and her hair framed her face on the pillow.

Almost unconsciously, Harry reached out with the fingers of his right hand and gently brushed his knuckles against the back of her hand, hissing at just how _cold_ she felt. Harry had seen corpses in his life, and it terrified him that she looked far too similar to one for his own comfort.

His magic rose up within him again as a fork of crimson energy danced between his fingers. His breathing became heavy, laboured, and it seemed like the entire world around him became razor sharp in its clarity.

No matter how his magic singed the sheet of the bed, or how the staff around him backed up warily – the dark figures in his peripheral vision receding – not a single mark appeared on his friend. He gently twirled a strand of her hair around his index finger and brushed his knuckles across the softness of her cheek. She had half a dozen tiny freckles on her nose – he never noticed before.

A hand grasped his shoulder from behind and gave it a gentle squeeze. He looked back, tearing his eyes painfully from Hermione as he looked up at Professor McGonagall – her eyes were shiny, and her skin pale. Her lips were pressed together tightly as she looked down at him.

He stood slowly as his chest began to heave once again. He nodded at McGonagall once before roughly pushing through the rest of the staff – his fingers twitched, and his teeth ground together as he stormed through the Wing to the large doors.

The doors themselves were practically thrown from their hinges as she stepped into the hallway – at the far end, the rest of his friends were running toward him in a full sprint.

“Harry!” Tracey called, panting. “We just heard! Where is she?”

He glanced behind him and nodded toward the domain behind him – the doors swung slowly back and forth and were bowed in the middle from the force of his magic, intended or not.

Neville stepped up to his then and gripped him by the shoulders – his brown eyes meeting Harry’s own as something unspoken passed between them.

“I’ll kill her.” He ground out, his fists trembling at his sides as Neville wrapped his arms around him. Harry wrapped his arms around Neville as his whole body vibrated in his barely contained rage. He glanced at Daphne and Tracey in the ensuing silence, only speaking once he pulled back from Neville. He blinked away the unshed tears. “ _Ruhxu_ is as good as dead.”


	34. Harry XXII

In the days and weeks following Hermione’s attack, an eerie calm had settled over the school like a heavy blanket – to Harry, it was as if everyone within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

April was upon them, and with the arrival of the new month, came the showers that kept everyone indoors. The tense atmosphere was only exacerbated by the constant pitter-patter of rain against the thin windows, the distant, booming thunder, and the sharp flashes of lightning.

Harry shifted his cloak around him a little more – it was the middle of the day, and the halls were so cold, that he needed his cloak to go anywhere outside of the Gryffindor Common Room – the thick pelt around his shoulders tickled at his cheeks, and the few stray strands of hair wafted back and forth in front of his eyes with each step.

The click-clacking of his boots on the flagstone floor echoed down the corridor, and a particularly powerful gust of wind rattled the windows to his left before a flash of lighting lit the dark shadows. He paused, slowly approaching the closest, and peered through.

The glass was old – most likely the original pane that was placed during the castle’s construction – and as such, it wasn’t terribly clear. The surface was uneven, and in some areas, completely opaque and misty white. He drew closer to it and squinted through a patch of clear glass; his breath fogging against it and tickling the tip of his nose.

Through the thin barrier between himself and the outside world, he could just spy Hagrid’s little hut, smoke wafting from the chimney and the warm, flickering light of the candles and hearth inside the stone dwelling – a shadow passed one of the windows by the door, so large, it could only be Hagrid.

His eyes darted to the forest, and he felt himself shiver slightly at the thought of just what dwelled beneath those thick evergreen pines, shrouded in the shadow of the forest floor. He shook himself as he looked away – there was little use in dwelling on creatures that he had no intention of coming across.

There was only one creature he cared about.

After the attack on Hermione, he had heard nothing of Ruhxu; that Lilith hadn’t heard so much as a muted hiss didn’t fill him with confidence either. He had wandered the halls late at night, beneath his invisibility cloak, and his sword on his hip, checking behind every tapestry and peering into every nook.

He had startled more than a few portraits from their slumber, and even now, he winced at the memory of the tongue-lashing he’d received from a pair of portraits by the entrance to the dungeons, startled awake by the tip of his sword appearing out of thin air and prodding at an odd stone emblazoned with a snake carving.

His nightly patrols did nothing to solve the riddle of Salazar’s Basilisk, and it brought him no closer to driving his sword down her gullet. The magic within him thrummed with the need to avenge himself upon the creature, and the longer it went on, the harder it was to focus past it.

Outwardly, he maintained a grim and stoic face – a façade. He wanted nothing more than to see the Basilisk and its controller pay dearly for daring to attack someone who meant so much to him. Internally, he was a tempest, awash in anger and loss.

Practical lessons were harder – his magic, in his simmering rage, was barely controllable, and it took a herculean effort to rein it in enough that he felt comfortable around others. His wand, while eager to perform spells for him, could barely focus his magic, and often speared whatever he was aiming at with lances of magic – just the other day, he had immolated a plank of wood when he attempted to turn it into a bottle.

He huffed a breath out of his nose as he continued down the corridor – thinking about the Basilisk and his magic barely being under his control wouldn’t help anyone, and frankly, it was more likely to make him even more furious.

That whoever was controlling, or directing, Ruhxu was still walking the corridors of the school unpunished and without a care in the world infuriated him; most days he could barely hold it together during classes, watching every student around him carefully.

Skidding around the corner, Ginny Weasley almost barrelled into him as she darted past him, her loose hair billowing in her wake as she clutched that familiar black book to her chest tightly. He watched her run down the corridor until she turned the next corner before shaking his head and carrying on.

Neville had gone out of his way to fulfil what he deemed his duty as ‘ _the older brother_ ’ and had taken to sitting up late with him most nights. Neville had always needed more sleep than him, but in the wake of Hermione’s attack, he had sacrificed that in an effort to make sure that he was alright. Even now, just thinking about it, was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

Daphne and Tracey had thrown themselves into looking for the entrance, and Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing that look of steely resolve in Daphne’s eyes before – he’d definitely never seen Tracey so serious. They rarely left the library, only appearing for classes and meals.

Most days, he joined them – annihilating journal after journal, account after account. While he learned a lot about Salazar, it was nothing of any real value or merit – just the personal thoughts of a powerful wizard that enjoyed passing on his knowledge to those determined and cunning enough to understand what he was teaching; not that he ever explained what in _Merlin_ ’s name _that_ was.

When he wasn’t pouring over the faded writings of the past, Harry scoured the castle, Neville bravely at his side. The two of them would explore whatever lead Daphne and Tracey thought they had found, though each one had proven to be a dead-end thus far. Neville was often silent during their searches, his stony expression and determined eyes a far cry from the funny, boisterous boy Harry knew and loved.

Everyone else in the castle was acting out of sorts, though, like Ginny Weasley. There were whispered conversations as he passed, and the usual stares that he’d grown used to over the year, but none of the open hostility; he hadn’t even had to break anyone’s nose since Hermione had been attacked, and it left him on edge – _tense_.

It was like he was the centre of some huge joke that he’d missed, and every second of every day, it was like waiting for the punchline. A number of students had approached him in the time she was attacked, offering apologies and their condolences for Hermione – like she was _dead_!

She wasn’t dead – he’d _know_ if she was. She was simply petrified, stuck in a dreamless sleep that she would be brought out of just as soon as that _bloody_ potion was ready. When she did wake, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would, he would be there, at her side with her friends – no doubt she would be carted off to speak to whoever turned up from the D.M.L.E, but he would _be there_.

It was where he spent his free time these days – when he wasn’t poking at tapestries with a sword, or checking behind suits of armour, and not being able to perform simple spells, or dodging running first years. He was at her bedside, writing out his essays and notes for her – she’d have hated to have fallen behind for _any_ reason, Basilisk be damned; nobody got between Hermione and her schoolwork.

He shrugged his shoulders, shifting the cloak a little closer to the nape of his neck as a chill ghosted across his skin when he passed an open door to an outer courtyard, the dark patches on the flagstone trailing in where the rain had been blown in by the howling wind. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to be a Dwarf and live inside a mountain, never having to be bothered by the rain and the cold that came with it – the hot forges of their cities sounded _wonderful_ compared to the cold, miserable Scottish Spring.

With his cloak tighter, he stepped up to the large oak doors of Madame Pomfrey’s domain and pushed gently – even after being fixed by the professors, there was still a noticeable bend to them where his magic had struck them violently.

The Hospital was quiet, with the rows of silent patients lining the left wall in small, private areas for friends and family to visit the sick and injured. At the far end on the right-hand-side of the room, a fifth-year girl was perched on the edge of her bed, staring at her slowly swinging feet nervously. He ignored her and ducked behind the partition for Hermione.

She remained as he’d left her the day before – her hair was splayed around her head on the pillow like some great halo, and the mirror remained tightly clutched in her hand as her wide, chocolate eyes stared at her reflection in surprise. He settled into the chair beside her bed with a huff and scooted the piece of furniture closer, until the arm was touching the side of the bed, turned so the back of the bed was against the side-table and the brick wall.

His left hand reached out slowly, and brushed the back of his knuckles against her own outstretched hand – the coldness of her skin something he didn’t ever want to get used to. While her hand was indeed as cold as ice, and pale enough to even put _him_ to shame, it was still soft, smooth, and nothing at all like the stone-like stiffness of her limbs.

“Hey, Hermione.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that Daphne and Tracey brushed your hair for you.” He added, smirking a little as he nodded at her thick head of hair. “I reckon Daphne’s wanted to get her hands on it since the wedding.”

He smiled sadly at the thought of the wedding – it seemed like his whole world had shifted after that. Sometimes, in his dreams, when he wasn’t plagued by nightmares, he would revisit that night, dancing under the moonlight with Andromeda and Hermione, laughing as they spun around. Other times, it was simply the same location with different faces.

Arcturus would be there, dancing with Melania, whom Harry had only ever seen silent portraits of – she would be beautiful, dressed in a gown of black Acromantula Silk with silver patterning over the bodice and skirt, beaming up at Arcturus. The man himself would be dressed as he always had been, in a fine doublet with the sigil of House Black proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his black and grey peppered hair loose and falling about his shoulders freely as he spun Melania around.

Sirius would be there, also – dancing the night away with Amelia, the two lost in each other’s eyes and oblivious to the world around them. Sometimes, Sirius would pick Amelia up playfully by her waist, hoisting her into the air to the rhythm of the song, laughing as she would squeal and slap his shoulder until he put her down.

Sometimes, his parents were there with him – the two of them off to the side of the dancefloor, content to simply watch and enjoy the presence of the other. His mother’s head would be pressed to his father’s shoulder, and his father’s arm would be draped across her shoulders. His eyes would dance merrily, and he would wiggle his eyebrows at him when he caught his gaze – nothing would be said between them, but it would be enough. It was _always_ enough.

He, like Sirius and Arcturus, would be dancing with Hermione – laughing as they talked about Hogwarts and what spells they were learning. She would tell him of her time before she knew she was a witch, and he’d tell her stories of growing up with _The Marauders_ and Neville.

His fingers would clutch at her waist, the shimmering, silver satin would be warm under his touch, and flow about his fingers like water. Her hair would whip about her shoulders, but for the small, braided crown that wrapped around her head; the colour of chestnuts and glimmering in the light.

The two of them would continue talking, and laughing, of course, about everything and nothing, and in those moments of peace, he would notice little things – the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose, or how she would purse her lips and arch her right eyebrow when she tried not to smile about a prank his father had pulled on Sirius.

In their many twirls and spins, they would pass others whose faces he knew; Andromeda and Ted dancing together, the gentle sway of their bodies as they held one another close, Neville and Daphne, the two of them laughing away, and Tracey giggling as she spun around with Nymphadora. Everything was just about as perfect as he could wish.

Like all dreams, however, the morning would dawn, and he would find himself in his bed, Clara and Hedwig nestled either side of him, the soft feathers of both his Familiars tickling his cheeks, and it would slowly sink in that it had all been just that – a dream.

Harry sighed and ran his free hand down his face and rubbed at his eyes – it was in these visits that his magic was the most under control, when he felt at his calmest, but the headaches refused to go away. Hermione would know what to do – she _always_ knew what to do.

“Diggory kicked my arse on Thursday – you’d have liked that.” He snorted, folding his legs as he stared at the bottom of the bed. “Sirius said it would ‘ _build character_ ’ to take on a fourth year – I think he just wanted to see me go flying through the air, frankly.” It was difficult to keep himself from pouting.

“Used a Reducto on the floor at my feet, and then hit me mid-air with a _Stupefy_ – never let it be said that the Badgers are pushovers.” He said, grinning a little. He nudged her arm a little. “Tracey trounced Neville, by the way, and Daphne practically obliterated Weasley – you should’ve seen him! He was so nervous; he almost dropped his wand.”

He smiled a little at the memory before sobering and clearing his throat as he glanced back at her – her vacant eyes looked through him. “Daphne hasn’t been the same since, well,” He muttered, nodding vaguely at her. “You know. None of us have been – Neville’s still helping me look around the castle, but I know he’s throwing himself at those Mandrakes. Fairly sure he’ll drag them kicking, and literally, screaming to maturity for you.”

Harry huffed at his own little joke before sighing and rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on – that was a good one.” He was quiet after that, content to simply listen to the background noise of the Wing as Madame Pomfrey bustled about – Andromeda had stopped by a few times when he’d visited, helping the lone matron where she could.

Occasionally, he would hear the clatter of something on a tray, or the hushed conversations of students asking the Healer for something or another.

Only once did Madame Pomfrey duck her head through the partition to check on Hermione, and Harry simply smiled sadly at her, earning one in return. Over the weeks, she had asked him if there was anything she could get him – a drink, a potion, a plate of food from the Great Hall – and each time he would refuse.

He ate sparingly – just enough to keep him going, but not so much that he would injure or make himself sick if the Basilisk appeared out of nowhere. Logically, he knew the chances of him stumbling across the serpent were slim, and McGonagall had been forced to outright ban him from wearing his armour and sword to classes on the off-chance it attacked during the day – but still, his magic thrummed with the desire to throw himself against it.

“You’re an arse for ending up in here, you know.” He grouched, momentarily glaring at her. “If you hadn’t gotten laid up in here, we could be picking on Neville right now – I don’t even know why you went to the Trophy Room in the first place, Neville and I looked all over that place and there’s nothing there. Just some stupid statues of the Founders and some awards.”

“It should’ve been me.” He muttered, picking at his cloak petulantly. “ _I’m_ the one supposed to be in a bed, _not_ you.” His lips pressed together tightly, and his throat constricted uncomfortably as he looked up at her through his eyelashes. “I don’t know what to do.” He admitted, timidly.

She said nothing in response, not that he expected her to reply, and so he contented himself with simply remaining at her side, his fingers absently dancing along the back of her hand and her wrist as he allowed his thoughts to wander freely.

He felt himself reaching out with his magic, just as he often did – the most recent being in _Transfiguration_ a few days prior, when McGonagall had caught him reaching out to Hermione and checking on her. Despite the chastisement, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel contrite, nor seek forgiveness – his magic _craved_ the reassurance that Hermione was fine.

Recently, it was often difficult to tell if he controlled his magic, or if _it_ controlled _him_.

His magic brushed against her own. He’d always thought that Hermione’s magic was unique, in that it felt like the wind against his face as he flew a broom, and at the same time peaceful and content – a strange contradiction that oddly suited the girl next to him. She was fierce, yet patient; brave, but cautious. Crossing the chasm in the year prior had been the bravest thing he’d ever seen anyone do.

He could still hear her voice, calling out to him through the rubble, just before he’d stumbled upon Quirrell and Voldemort – he could taste the dust in his mouth, feel the coughs as they wracked his chest violently, and the softness of her hand as she gripped at his own.

She had wanted to go with him, into the next room – it hadn’t taken a genius to work that out. Instead, she had been separated by a mound of rubble that stretched to the ceiling, and wall-to-wall – a barrier that neither of them could overcome.

What would have happened if she had followed him? He certainly didn’t think the two of them would have survived the ordeal, and frankly, Harry detested the idea of Hermione witnessing Quirrell smash his face into the _Mirror of Erised_ , screaming at him to see the stone.

He had been hopelessly outmatched in that chamber, and the only reason he had survived as long as he did, was that he was being played with. Voldemort had wanted to gloat as he killed him, and he’d done that through Quirrell, toying with a measly first year, a child of eleven that didn’t even know the most basic of shielding spells.

He breathed deeply, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of Hermione’s wrist as his side twinged along his second and newest scar. It had been a deep wound, and even almost a year later, it still ached occasionally, though both Andromeda and Pomfrey had assured him it was simply all in his mind. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought of what Hermione could have suffered in that room.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, and he withdrew from Hermione’s presence and opened his eyes lazily, his gaze darting to the partition between the bed and the rest of the Wing. He recognised the quiet voices and shifted in his seat.

Sirius stuck his head through, much in the same manner that Pomfrey did, and smiled sadly at him, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. “I thought you’d be in here.” Sirius said, stepping up to the bed.

Sirius looked much the same as he usually did – dressed richly in a fine doublet and coat, both in the colours of House Black, with the sigil emblazoned on his breast. His hair was tied back behind his head in a messy bun, much like Harry’s own.

Remus entered behind him, his auburn hair greying speckled with a few more strands of grey, and a new scar stretched across his face, pink and ragged against the paleness of his face.

“Hello, Harry.” Remus smiled, his moustache twitching as his eyes twinkled in the midday light. He folded his hands before him and rocked on his heels.

Harry said nothing, simply nodding and offering a small smile – he spoke to them both each night through his mirror, Neville always at his side. Their presence confused him, however, as it was a Saturday, not a Thursday; the two of them, as far as he knew, had no business in the school outside of that one day a week.

Sirius shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair before slumping into it, rubbing his forehead with his fingers while Remus settled into the one next to him silently. The two of them seemed ill-at-ease, Sirius most of all, and Harry felt his shoulders tense uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, a lead weight settling into the pit of his stomach. “Who died?” He asked, his eyes darting between the two.

“Died?” Sirius blinked, looking up sharply. “Nobody died, Harry. Why would you think that?”

Harry shrugged and looked at Hermione. “Everyone’s been offering their condolences recently. First Arcturus, now _her_.”

“She’s petrified, not _dead_.” Sirius said, shocked. “Where’d they get that _bloody_ idea from?”

“I stopped asking just after, well, you know.” Harry muttered, turning to look at the two visitors. “It’s been hard, seeing her like this, I mean.”

“Oh, Harry – we can’t even begin to imagine what this year must have been like for you.” Remus sighed, putting his hands in his pockets.

“It’s fine – I’ve had the two of you, Andromeda, my friends.” He paused, his throat constricting. “ _Arcturus_.”

“And you’ve not exactly had the best news in recent months either, _Gods take me_.” Sirius muttered, wiping a hand down his face. “ _Merlin_ , you must have thought the worst when you saw us turn up out the blue.”

He tried to fight the little up-tick at the corners of his mouth. “Not any more than usual, I guess.”

Sirius snorted. “This really isn’t the time for your cheek.”

“Not had anyone else to be cheeky to for a while.” Harry shrugged, the hint of a smile fading. “She can’t exactly answer me.” He said, nodding to the girl whose wrist he was holding, the pad of his thumb absently moving back and forth.

“You’ve had an extraordinarily tough year, Harry, something, I think we can all agree, nobody should have to suffer through – add in the attacks that have been happening-“

“Something I should’ve been able to stop.” Harry muttered; his eyes locked on Hermione’s stunned face.

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing you could’ve done.” Sirius asked, confused – the chair scraped against the flagstone floor as he shifted.

“If I wasn’t with Hope, and talking to Wes, I could’ve done _something_.” He muttered, finally tearing his eyes from Hermione’s. “She shouldn’t be in here.” Harry sniffed, staring at a spot on the floor just beyond the toe of his boot. “I could’ve stopped it.”

“There’s no way you could have done anything, Harry – whoever is attacking students would have done the same to you.”

“I could have talked to it – made it stop.” He muttered.

“Talked to it? What are you on about?” Sirius asked, frowning.

Harry hesitated and wet his lips as he looked between the two men. “I-“ He began, and he felt his chest constrict tightly. “It’s a snake – a _Basilisk_.”

The two men were silent as they stared at him with open mouths before glancing uneasily between themselves. Eventually, it was Remus who spoke first. “Harry – that’s a _serious_ accusation. Do you have any proof?”

“I can hear it talking to itself, but it’s been getting less coherent with each attack – it calls itself _Ruhxu_. We also found a large scale – it’s in my trunk, wrapped in a tunic. We’ve been looking for the entrance so Amelia wouldn’t have to tear the school apart.”

Both men rocked back at the information, and Harry felt himself cringing – it had been foolish to go along with Neville and Tracey’s plan, but despite the _shit_ year that he’d had, and the fiasco at the end of the last year, he _loved_ Hogwarts, and the thought of it being torn apart in the hunt for the Basilisk broke his heart.

“Have you told _anyone_?” Sirius asked.

“Hagrid knows – I heard he was held responsible for it all last time, so I asked him about it. He worked out it was a Basilisk after I told him I could hear it – he thought for years it was his friend, Aragog.”

“Who?” Remus muttered, his eyes darting to Sirius briefly.

“It’s, uh-“ Harry shifted uncomfortably again, before clearing his throat. “His friend – an Acromantula that lives in the forest.”

“A _what_!” Sirius cried, launching to his feet, his eyes wide and face pale. “Next to a _school_? Is he _mad_?”

Harry winced as Sirius began pacing – the parchment was balled up in his godfather’s hand, while the other raked through his hair, tugging the occasional strand loose. “I was going to tell you.” Harry admitted in a quiet voice. “I just don’t want to see this place torn down.”

“None of us want that, Harry, but you have to understand – a Basilisk _and_ an Acromantula are serious creatures that need to be handled properly, _not_ by five second year students.” Remus said, placatingly. “Harry, if it had been _you_ instead of Hermione, there’s every chance that you would be dead – as it is, the young Miss Granger is _incredibly_ lucky.”

“I know.” He murmured, staring at the floor sullenly. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“What doesn’t?” Sirius asked, finally ceasing his furious pacing. His grey eyes were ablaze with barely contained fury, and his hands were planted on his hips – he looked every bit the powerful Lord Black, a title that still felt odd for Harry to link to Sirius.

“Not being the one in the bed.” Harry shrugged, nodding to the bed next to him – at some point, his hand had gently closed around Hermione’s tiny wrist. “She usually reads _Hogwarts: A History_ to me when I’m in here, but I can’t remember what chapter she got up to last time.”

Sirius’s eyes softened as he settled into the chair he had leapt out of and huffed out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Why didn’t you mention any of this before?”

“I want to stay in the castle, with my friends.” Harry answered. “I love spending time with you both, but-“

“We’re adults.” Remus finished for him, nodding slowly, his eyes soft and crinkling in the corners. “Despite what some may think.” He added with a smirk in Sirius’s direction, earning him a glare from the man himself.

“And I don’t really want to go back to Blackwall just yet.” Harry added, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll just be reminded of him.”

“Oh, Harry.” Remus sighed. “He’s not gone, you know – he’s as much a part of you, as he is us.”

“That doesn’t help very much.”

“Not right now, no – but in time, it will.” Remus said, gently. “You’re still so incredibly young – despite what you’ve already endured. It isn’t easy for us, either.”

“I know.”

“You realise I _have_ to tell Amelia, right?” Sirius asked, looking at him. Harry nodded sadly as an uncomfortable weight settled in his chest.

“What will she do?”

“Follow up the claims, no doubt. It’ll take time, but she’ll find it soon enough.”

“But nobody has ever found Slytherin’s sanctum before – it could take her years!”

“And a group of second years could find it quicker?” Sirius asked, archly – Harry felt his shoulders deflate. “Look, Harry – there are plenty of other schools around the country. Take your pick and you can go to any of them.”

“But none of them are _Hogwarts_.”

“No, but they certainly don’t have a Basilisk and a nearby Acromantula.”

“Or my father’s room.”

Sirius sighed and put his face in his hands wearily, rubbing at his eyes. “You and your bloody stubbornness – what happened to the boy that believed everything I said without question?”

“He got smart after you told him that Hippogriffs deliver babies on broomsticks, dressed in skirts.” Harry scoffed and glanced back to Hermione. “We could all get separated, you know.”

“It’s possible, but it will be up to their own parents to decide where to send them.” Remus answered him, glancing at the girl in the bed. “I can’t imagine they’ll be very happy to hear of their daughters’ condition.”

“How would you feel if the _Marauders_ were broken up?” He asked, refusing to look at the two of them.

“That’s totally different.” Sirius scoffed.

“Is it? Neville called us _The Vargarnir_ – The Wolves. We’re a pack – Neville is to me what my father was to you. So are Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey.”

“There wasn’t a _bloody_ Basilisk roaming the halls!”

“No – there was _Voldemort_!” Harry snapped, his magic flaring wildly; a bottle smashed on the table behind him as the furniture trembled. “There were his _followers_ in the school, and still, you returned, year after year.”

“Harry.” Remus warned, his eyes darting around him as everything trembled – behind him, the panes of glass rattled noisily as a small cloud of dust trailed from the ceiling. “Harry!”

The anger left him quickly, and the trembling stopped just as quickly as it began – both men were looking at him, and at the furniture around them. Harry’s shoulders slumped tiredly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to.” He murmured; his voice strained. “I didn’t mean to.”

Remus and Sirius were around him instantly – Remus kneeling and cupping his face, tilting his head up until he was looking the older man in the eye, while Sirius hovered at his side, worriedly chewing on his thumb and glancing between the two of them.

“Tell me, how long has your magic been acting out like this?” Remus asked, tilting Harry’s head this way and that.

Harry squirmed under Remus’s intense stare – his green eyes boring into his own, as if searching for something. In the back of his mind, he felt the familiar presence of both Sirius and Remus brushing up against his magic. “It got worse after Hermione was petrified.”

“Worse?” Sirius frowned, kneeling at Remus’s side, and looking up at him. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the end of last year – after I woke up in here.” Harry muttered, reluctantly. Remus rocked back on his heels and got to his feet and perched on Hermione’s bed, rubbing his face tiredly as he did so.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sirius murmured, cupping Harry’s cheek.

“I didn’t want to bother you – I can control it most of the time, but-“

“His control is slipping.” Remus finished for him when he trailed off. “This might explain a few things over the summer – Arcturus’s study, for one.”

“The study?” Sirius asked, turning to look at Remus. “Oh – the day we went to Diagon, right?”

Remus nodded slowly and folded his hands in his lap. Harry looked between the two of them, and he felt his thumb still against the inside of Hermione’s wrist.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, looking between the two of them.

“You’ve been angry, _moody_ , for a long time now – we noticed it just before we went to Arpton – don’t give me that look, we know you better than you think we do.” Sirius said, taking Harry’s free hand in his own.

“I’m not _moody_.” He pouted, huffing a little as he looked away.

“And when Andromeda had to be called in by Poppy?”

Harry jumped in his seat, his eyes darting between Sirius and Remus as his jaw opened and closed – his hand, held firmly in Sirius’s own, trembled and his limbs felt weak. “She told you?”

Neither said anything for a moment. “Enough.” Remus said, eventually.

“They’ve been getting better – and I haven’t trashed a room since _Clara_ , at least, I don’t _think_ I have, and the potions have been helping, but I don’t want to be on them the rest of my life, and Neville helps, and Hermione knows-“

“Harry.” Sirius said, gently, a small smile on his face.

“Sorry.” He winced, hissing in a breath. “I just-“

“We know.” Sirius nodded slowly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “We love you – unconditionally.”

“I know.” Harry murmured, glancing down at his lap – his lips having barely moved. “I know.” He repeated, a little louder and stronger. The corners of his eyes stung, and he sniffed defiantly – he _wouldn’t_ cry. He had to be strong, for himself, for his friends, for Sirius and Remus, and for Hermione.

“Not to mention,” Sirius added, “I know one of my own glamour spells when I see one. Why don’t you take it off – we won’t think any less of you, and nobody will come in with us here.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he stared at the partition at the far end of the bed. “You promise? _She_ won’t know, will she?” He asked, tipping his head in Hermione’s direction.

“She’s petrified – just a dreamless sleep.” Remus said, soothingly.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, his shoulders sagging with the relief of letting go of the spell he had maintained for so long – it had become the norm for him, to maintain it almost at all hours, never allowing it to so much as flicker, though recently, it had been getting harder and harder with each passing day.

Both men gasped as the magic danced across his skin, and Harry opened his eyes. “Pup,” Sirius choked, his hands darting to his mouth as tears leaked from his eyes – he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Sirius cry in his life, let alone _Remus_ , who was in a similar state on the bed.

Harry knew how he looked – bloodshot and sunken eyes that were surrounded by dark circles, the scar over his right eye was an angry red against the pale skin. His cheeks were gaunt, and his cheekbones clearly visible, the skin practically clinging to the bones of his face, and his lips were pale and thin. Even his infamous scar on his forehead, as faded as it usually was, was clearly visible.

“ _Merlin_ , Harry.” Remus muttered. “We had no idea.”

Harry licked his lips and shrugged awkwardly. “The potions don’t really let me get much sleep – _proper_ sleep, I mean. The nightmares did the rest. I, uh – I don’t like sleeping.” He admitted, looking away.

“Harry,” Sirius moaned, pulling him into a crushing hug. Harry buried his face in the crook of his neck and wrapped his free arm around Sirius. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Harry murmured, leaning back, and smiling weakly as he fiddled with his cloak. “I thought the glamour was holding up well enough, and I have Clara – she helps.”

“But you need your sleep, you understand that, yes?” Remus asked, softly – his eyes were shiny when Harry looked at him, and another tear was trailing down his cheek.

“I have nightmares.”

“Andromeda said, I just-“ Sirius muttered, rubbing his eyes with the base of his hands roughly. “We should have said something sooner.”

“Everything’s been happening so fast.” Harry shrugged.

“That’s no excuse – _you_ are what is most important to us.” Remus said, shaking his head and staring at the floor.

“But-“

“No buts, Harry – you’re all that matters to us.” Sirius sighed, glancing back at Remus.

“The nightmares won’t go away.” Harry moaned, his voice was pitiful, even to him.

“They don’t, not really, but you learn to live with them – we have nightmares too, from the war.”

“Y-you do?” Harry blinked, stunned. “But why? I thought-“

“Harry, you must understand, this is something that that many suffer with, and it isn’t your burden alone.” Remus said, his voice soft as he reached out and cupped the back of Harry’s neck. “Your father helped me when the nightmares of my transformation got to be too much – let me do the same for his son.”

“I dream about the battles I’ve been in.” Sirius admitted with a sniff. “The people I fought beside that died, and those I’ve killed.”

“How do they stop?” He asked, quietly – for a moment, he hadn’t even considered that the words had been asked aloud, until Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair. “I don’t want to be scared anymore, I want to be brave, like you two.”

“Oh, Harry – we’re terrified all the time.” Sirius chuckled, though there was no humour in it. “It’s the only time you _can_ be brave, and I know you’re the bravest of us all.”

“I don’t want a Mind Healer.” Harry said after a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t need one.”

“If you don’t want one for now, you don’t have to have one, but we _will_ be helping you through this – do you understand?” Remus replied, arching his brow carefully. “The moment you decide you want one, _if_ you want one, you need only tell us – forcing one on you won’t do any good.”

“We’ll talk, each night, for as long as you need to, okay?”

Harry nodded at both men and quickly focused on the glamour once again, feeling his skin tingle pleasantly as it hid his ragged appearance. Absently, he couldn’t help but wonder just when he’d become so comfortable hiding behind a spell.

“Now, lets talk about this control problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.” Harry muttered automatically before wincing. “I mean-“ He sighed, shifting in his chair. “I don’t know – I just get angry, and my magic is always wanting me to _do_ something, to _use_ it, but I know I can’t, or shouldn’t.”

“How does it feel?” Remus asked, shifting on the bed, and folding his hands in his lap.

“Tense, restless, agitated… _furious_.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, licking his lips. “It was difficult after the Troll, but after _Quirrell_? It’s been screaming at me ever since, and now with _Hermione_ …”

Sirius and Remus looked at one another – Remus shrugged, and Sirius rubbed at his jaw, the slight stubble of his chin making a scratching noise in the quiet of the large room. “Harry – you know the history between our Houses.”

“Of course.” He answered, quickly. “Potters and Blacks have been rivals for almost two-thousand years.”

“What are your House Words?”

“ _We Watch The Way_.” Harry replied instantly. “And, _Under The Moon, We Howl_.”

Sirius shifted in his seat, the leather cushion creaking with his every movement. “Your sigil is a prowling wolf, everyone knows this – but there was a time, a _long_ time ago, when the howl of a wolf in the night would keep my ancestors awake. We feared nothing more than a Potter.”

Harry blinked.

“Your family has a reputation for having a temper – Charlus had it, and James _definitely_ had it.” Sirius muttered, rubbing his jaw absently as he cast a quick look at Remus, who chuckled silently, his eyes distant and twinkling with fondness. “Lily had one too. Lily’s was fast and furious, but your _father_ – James could hold a grudge that lasted years, and it was _terrifying_ – something you inherited.”

“I’m angry because my family has a history of having a _temper_?” Harry asked, dumbly. “That doesn’t make any sense, a temper isn’t _hereditary_.”

“It isn’t – but _Family Magic_ is.”

Harry looked to Remus, his jaw opening and closing. “Wouldn’t I know if the Potter Magic was reacting? It’s different from my own, right?”

“That’s a complicated answer.” Sirius answered, instead. “Remus doesn’t _have_ any, so there’s no way for him to know, no offence.”

“None taken.” Remus shrugged.

“Family Magic is the culmination of all those that came before you, and all that have served your family over the years. It’s there to guide and protect you – how it reacts to your own magic is something that differs from person to person. Some have a loose connection, and can clearly separate the two – others, not so much.” Sirius shrugged.

“So, what am I?” Harry frowned, staring at the tiles of the floor as he chewed on his lip.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself as you get older. You’re exhausted, but you _want_ to do something to help Hermione, right?”

Harry nodded.

“That’s the Potter Magic, _and_ your own, wanting to protect something, or in this case, _someone_ , you care about. It doesn’t make your own feelings about it invalid, though – _Merlin_ , this is complicated.” Sirius muttered, rubbing his face. “Think of it as your magic trying to nudge you in the right direction.”

“I’d hardly call it a nudge.” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Feels like I’m being dragged along behind a stampeding Re’em.”

“I’m sure it’ll quieten down after Hermione and Hope are released. Explains why you were so determined to learn those spells at Arpton over the summer with Felix, too.”

“I did that because I don’t want to be defenceless again.” Harry scowled. “I had enough of that with the-“ Harry tensed, his eyes darting around the room briefly, eyeing the partitions, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “With the _Ambush_!” He hissed.

“You wanted to, aye, but your magic, whether you acknowledge it or not, will have helped you in some fashion.” Remus smiled. “It could be something as simple as helping you understand spells better – we’ll never truly know.”

“I don’t like the idea of it pushing me to do things, _especially_ if I can’t control it – I immolated a plank of wood in _Transfiguration_ the other day! What if that was Neville, or Daphne, or Tracey?” Harry snapped, staring at the hand in his lap – a thin tendril of magic skittered along his skin before forking between his fingers. “I feel like a walking bomb.”

“You need rest – get some rest, let your body recover. Your magic wants to help Hermione, but the best thing you can do is make sure you’re strong when she’s woken up.” Sirius said, his lips pressed tightly together. “It won’t do anyone any good when you keel over.”

“And you’ll stop this foolish search for the Basilisk.” Remus added, his voice stern as he fixed Harry with a severe look.

“But-“

“You’ll stop it – immediately.”

“Fine.” Harry huffed. “But you have to promise to not let Amelia tear the castle apart.”

“She’ll do what she has to, and it will take as long as it needs to, is that understood?” Sirius retorted; his eyes hard and unwavering. “If we say that it’s for the best that you have to study elsewhere, that’s what will happen – I won’t risk you with a Basilisk roaming the halls.”

“Yes, Sirius.” Harry grumbled, feeling his jaw clench and unclench painfully as he glared at the floor.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Harry – we have to do what we feel is best for you, even if that means you moving to a different school.” Remus sighed. “Makes a lot of what we came here for rather redundant, though.”

Harry frowned at that and looked up, glancing between the two of them warily. “What are you talking about?”

Sirius snatched up the crumpled piece of parchment off of the arm of the chair he was occupying and waved it absently between his fingers. “This.” He said, handing it to him.

Harry finally released his hold on Hermione and sat up, taking the parchment, and raking his eyes over the lines of script. It was short, to the point, and depressingly official. “Is this real?”

“As real as you and me.” Sirius grimaced, while Remus just nodded silently.

“Why would he do this?”

“He’s wanted Dumbledore gone for years – he finally managed to bully enough of the Board to suspend him from his duties.” Sirius shrugged. “We watched him leave the grounds with Fawkes.”

“But it’s _Dumbledore_ – I might think him an arse for the whole thing with the cloak last Christmas, but he’s _Albus Dumbledore_!”

“And, if what you said about the Basilisk is true, and someone’s been releasing it, they’ll only be bolder now.” Remus added quietly, nodding.

Harry looked between them. “And you did nothing to stop the Ministry taking Hagrid away? _He_ _didn’t do it_!” He snapped, waving the parchment.

“Anyone who knows Hagrid would know he wouldn’t hurt a soul – but there was nothing we could have done. Minister Fudge wanted to be seen to be doing _something_. As it is, House Black has only been able to keep him at bay for so long.” Remus answered him calmly. “We’ve been trying to temper the Wizengamot and the other Lords and Ladies ever since that poor boy was killed.”

“Justin.”

Remus nodded sadly. “The Lords, as much as I hate to say it, don’t care about the life of one Muggle-Born boy, or the Muggle-Born that have been attacked – they simply fear for their heirs. There’s been an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot twice a month to debate closing the school.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because you are a child and belong in school.” Sirius answered him.

“That you’re about to take me out of.” Harry huffed, getting to his feet, and leaning against the bed. He stared at Hermione and traced the knuckles of her fingers – the ones that held the handle of her mirror tightly – with his own.

“And you’re exhausted, Harry.” Sirius replied evenly, folding his arms over his chest. “What would you have me do? Let you return here, even if the Basilisk is still roaming about?”

“I-“ Harry tried, his throat constricting as he took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know, but I could’ve done something to help with the Wizengamot, at least.”

“And as we’ve already said,” Remus began. “You’re still so very young, and you deserve to remain in school.”

“I’m just fed up of it all.” Harry murmured weakly. “I want to be helpful; I want to _do_ things – I feel _useless_.”

“It’ll come to you, in time.” Sirius muttered, appearing at his shoulder, and giving it a squeeze. “You just need to be patient. You’re trying to grow up too quickly.”

Harry nodded silently and chewed on his bottom lip. To his left, the rain continued to hammer at the glass of the window, and the random flashes of light would be followed seconds later by the deep crack of thunder.

“You told me, at the Citadel, that Voldemort was gone – that he’d never come back.” He said, eventually.

“We did, and at the time, we believed that promise.” Remus answered him – there was a shuffling to the side, and a moment later, Harry could feel the presence of the gentle man behind him.

“He’s not dead.”

“No, he isn’t – _how_ , we have no idea, but we will, with time.” Sirius breathed, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Harry leaned into the embrace and closed his eyes – Sirius smelled of home.

“He’s going to keep coming for me, for my friends.”

“And we’ll be there.”

“I _have_ to do something to help – I have to be ready.”

“Ready for what? Harry, you’ll be an exceptional wizard one day – but at the end of the day, you’re twelve, almost thirteen. Let us adults do our jobs, hm?”

“You don’t _have_ a job.”

“Okay, well, let Remus do his.” Sirius sniffed, giving him a squeeze, while Remus chuckled behind them. “He might have even had another one if there hadn’t been this whole thing with a Basilisk.”

“What?”

“Sirius has gotten it into his head that I’d make a passable teacher – he joined the Board of Hogwarts for the sole purpose of placing me here as a professor next year.” Remus answered him, moving over to the window, and leaning against the stone wall, a flash of lightning briefly lighting up his face. “He thought it best if you had someone here you could turn to among the faculty.”

“I have McGonagall – I think me and Hermione are her favourites in Gryffindor.”

“Hermione and I.” Remus chided, softly. Sirius snorted while Harry shrugged unapologetically.

“You would be one of her favourites – she changed your nappies.”

Harry’s eyes grew large, and he physically felt the blood drain from his face. His head spun to meet Sirius so quickly, he thought he might have continued spinning if not for the strong grip his godfather held him in. “She didn’t.” He moaned, much to Sirius’s obvious delight.

“Poppy too.”

“Well now I _have_ to leave Hogwarts.”

The two adults chuckled between themselves as he squirmed uncomfortably – the thought of both women having changed his nappies when he was a baby was _mortifying_. How was he supposed to look either woman in the eye now, let alone concentrate in their classes? _Merlin_ , if Daphne ever found out, he’d never hear the end of it.

“You have the Easter Break coming up next week – after that, it’ll be your last term at the school. Enjoy it but be safe. We’ll talk about other schools closer to the summer, okay?” Sirius murmured into his hair as he pulled him into a crushing hug. “I’ll be telling Amelia about the snake tonight.”

“I still don’t want to leave. Not really.”

“None of us ever do – Hogwarts is a home away from home for many of us.” Remus offered, just as Harry was released by Sirius.

“Can I stay here? Over the Easter, I mean.”

The two adults looked at one another, a silent conversation passing between them that Harry couldn’t understand. Finally, Sirius nodded. “Alright, _but_ there’s going to be conditions.” He said, pointing a finger at him.

“That hardly seems fair.” Harry huffed under his breath.

“I’m on the Board now, so I get to make the rules.” Sirius replied smugly, folding his hands behind his back, and rocking on his heels. “You’ll get to bed on time each night, and we’ll have our chats, okay? That’s the first rule.”

Harry nodded uncomfortably – he wasn’t looking forward to that.

“Second, you’ll let Amelia and the Ministry deal with the Basilisk – is that understood?”

Harry nodded and let himself be pulled into another hug from Sirius. Harry wrapped his arms around the man and balled his hands into the doublet on Sirius’s back, squeezing for all he was worth. He felt Sirius place another kiss to the top of his head, and buried his face into his chest as much as he could – it was the small things, like Sirius’s hugs, that he always missed the most when he was at school.

“Anything else?”

“Probably,” interjected Remus before Sirius could say anything more. “But if we let him continue, it will be about a prank or ten.”

“We should get going, and _you_ should go and spend some time with your friends.” Sirius said, leaning back and cupping Harry’s face after elbowing Remus in the side.

“I’ll stay here a little longer – keep her company for a bit.” He murmured, tipping his head in Hermione’s direction. “I’ll go and see the others later.”

“Alright – but don’t forget to look after yourself, okay? I’m not above setting Andromeda on you.”

“I’ll remember.” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll talk to you both later.” He said, pushing Sirius gently toward his chair, which still had his coat draped over it. As the two men left, Sirius shoving his arms through his sleeves, a pit of dread settled in the bottom of his gut.

* * *

The rest of April passed quickly, almost as if a blur, and it wasn’t long until they were into May. He spoke to both Sirius and Remus each night before crawling into bed, Clara would nestle against him, and Hedwig would bury herself into the crook of his neck, barking softly and tossing strands of his hair from his face before finally closing her large eyes.

He had stopped his consumption of Madame Pomfrey’s potions shortly after Sirius and Remus had visited, though by that point they did little other than to force his eyes to close. His dreams were still just as fitful and restless, but he found himself feeling less exhausted as the days went on.

His appetite returned, as did the sharpness of his mind. His magic felt less out of control, though it still screamed in the back of his mind, gnashing on the leash he had collared it with as his strength returned.

Talking had helped – he told Sirius and Remus about all sorts of things. At first, he had been reluctant; his failings weren’t something he enjoyed discussing, even with those he trusted and cared about as much as his two guardians. It was a slow process, and over the last month, it had taken untold hours, but eventually, the dam had burst.

They had started from the beginning, at Remus’s urging, and were going through all sorts of old stories together – moments they had all shared with one another, though it all boiled down to the same inevitable question. How did he feel about each memory?

Harry knew he was luckier than most. He was born to loving parents and into an old and powerful family. While his parents were no longer alive, he had been raised by three wonderful guardians, and both Lispy and Andromeda had played their own parts in his life. He couldn’t have asked for more.

It had also helped that Sirius and Remus had both talked to him about their own troubles. In some ways, he felt very much like he had seen them both in a new light, and for all that he hadn’t been looking forward to talking about his nightmares, it felt _good_ to share them with the two most important men in his life.

While he was far more rested than he had been in a long time – he hadn’t needed to apply the glamour for a few days – and his magic was under more control than it had been in weeks, his nights were still plagued with nightmares. His loyal Familiars helped, of course, and in the middle of the worst dreams, he could often hear the distant trills of Clara, chasing them away.

With his renewed energy, he had thrown himself back into his schoolwork, making sure to continue to make double the notes for Hermione; their exams would be taking place shortly after she was scheduled to wake up, and she’d need everything she could get her hands on – he’d already put out orders for the relevant book material from the Hogwarts Library, the Potter and Black libraries, and various booksellers, just to make sure that she wouldn’t go without.

He no longer patrolled the corridors in his armour and sword. Instead, his free time was spent helping Daphne and Tracey in the Library; he wasn’t looking for the Basilisk, he had reasoned, he was looking for the entrance to the _Chamber_.

In the weeks since the visit from Sirius and Remus, not a single Auror had turned up at Hogwarts, nor had Amelia arrived, ready to tear it all down to its foundations, and level the forest – at first, Harry had thought she might enlist the help of the Dwarves. He’d been wrong.

With the arrest of Hagrid and the dismissal of Dumbledore, the Ministry was quite content to simply call the whole thing done. Hagrid had been sent off to _Azkaban_ for his crimes, and not a single person had seen hide nor hair of Dumbledore – the _Prophet_ had been claiming sightings of the wizard for weeks. Dumbledore hadn’t even appeared at the Wizengamot for May’s session, according to Sirius and Remus.

The school had been quiet, for the most part, with only a small number of students crowing the departure of the Headmaster. They had mostly been seventh years, from all four Houses, and from families that often found themselves falling in line behind House Kullens and their ilk.

As it was, most were saddened, or at least confused, about his abrupt dismissal – many wondering if, or indeed, _when_ , McGonagall would step in to fill the void. Even now, sitting at the Gryffindor table, absently moving his bowl of fruit around with his spoon, the High Table of Hogwarts looked empty. He wasn’t sure which void was larger, the gaping hole where Hagrid’s bulk usually occupied, or the golden throne of the Headmaster.

Neville huffed at his side, pulling a face as he forced some wriggling fruit into his mouth, his complexion turning almost as green as Harry’s eyes as he began to chew. Harry huffed his amusement before shovelling a spoon of his own into his mouth – he’d opted for strawberries and condensed milk, not… _whatever_ it was that Neville had grabbed.

He looked up at the banging of a book on the table across from him – it was thick and heavy enough that it made the trestle table shake, and, worryingly, groan under its sudden weight. He jumped back at the sudden noise and looked up, mouth still full, into the powerful gaze of Daphne Greengrass.

He blinked.

“We need to talk.” Was all she said – her chest heaved, and her hands were planted firmly on her hips as she stared down at him. Harry knew that by the set of her jaw, and the long, wild ponytail that she’d pulled her hair back into – something that still almost reached her hips – that she wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“By all means. Where’s Tracey?” He said, swallowing his food quickly and gesturing to the seat across from him. His eyes darted around the Hall; besides those that had looked over at the sudden racket, everyone was still blissfully shovelling food into their mouths. Tracey was nowhere to be found.

“Still in the Library.” Daphne huffed, sitting down roughly before spinning the book on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Ron gesturing in their direction as he talked to his friends. Harry rolled his eyes and focused on the page Daphne had flipped the book to.

“What’s this?” He asked, sliding his bowl out the way as he looked at it – it was one of Salazar’s journals, he recognised the handwriting and the familiar feeling as he brushed his fingers along the lines of script.

“One of Salazar’s journals – I’m no Parselmouth, _but_ I thought this might interest you.” Daphne answered him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she tapped at the page with her other hand.

“ _-rests in the shadow of the serpent-tongue_.” Harry recited slowly, frowning. “Okay?”

Daphne huffed at him, and Harry glanced at Neville, who simply shrugged and gingerly slid his bowl away. “Honestly, how the two of you ever work _anything_ out is simply baffling.” She muttered, loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Neville squawked his indignation at the same time as Harry, both of them glancing at one another before pinning Daphne with a glare. “We get along just fine, _thank you_ , but not everyone drops half a sentence, with no context mind you, from a book over a thousand years old, on us every day.” Harry snorted. “Sorry if I’m a little rusty.”

“What does _Parseltongue_ mean?” Daphne demanded, with a roll of her eyes.

“Serpent-“ Neville began, only for his eyes to grow wide. “Oh.”

“Oh, _indeed_.” Daphne hummed, before massaging her temples slowly. “Where’s Hermione when you need her.” She added, under her breath.

“Still in the Hospital Wing, as of twenty minutes ago when I left her.” He replied, nodding in the direction of the large doors. She glared at him from across the table, though it had no malice. “Just think, you might not have to deal with this soon.” He grinned, waving a finger back and forth between himself and Neville.

“Wouldn’t that be the day.” Daphne replied, rolling her eyes, and shaking her head. “Look, this is the best clue Tracey and I have found in _weeks_ – I think it’s worth looking at.”

“So why isn’t she here? And why’s nobody looked at this before?” Neville asked, and Harry couldn’t help but nod in agreement. The tome itself looked older than Hogwarts itself, so there must have been hundreds of people, students, teachers, and researchers that had read the exact same passage in their own private quests for the lost domain of Salazar.

“She’s reading the volume that directly follows after this one, in case there’s anything he mentions in that.” Daphne replied, edging forward on her bench. “I think, obviously, people have, but they’ve never made the connection before.”

“I refuse to believe nobody thought of Parseltongue and Salazar, Daphne.” Harry sighed, arching an eyebrow at her. “ _Merlin_ , most Parselmouths would probably _kill_ for the chance to find the _Chamber_.”

“Most people are idiots; we know this better than most after this year.” Daphne answered quickly, jabbing her finger at the book. “There’s only one statue of Salazar in the castle, and it’s in the Trophy Room.”

Harry rubbed his temples and groaned. “Look, we’ve been all over that room – there’s nothing there besides four statues, some alcoves, and a _stupid_ number of trophies and awards.”

“There was the Prefect’s Passage – that was neat.” Neville commented with a shrug. “Didn’t realise how much smaller Lily was than James – you sure you’re not part Dwarf?”

“Pretty sure.” Harry said, looking at the boy next to him.

“Pity.”

“ _Boys_!” Daphne snapped, and Harry sighed. “Can you focus for _five_ minutes?”

“What do you want us to say, Daphne? I want to find Ruhxu more than anyone, but I made a promise not to go looking for it.” Harry said, turning to look back at the girl across from him. “Yes, we’re justifying it by looking for the _Chamber_ – _your_ choice of words, by the way – and sure, you might have found a clue, but there’s _nothing_ in there that vaguely resembles a passage, let alone large enough for a _Basilisk_!”

Daphne stared at him for a long moment before she leaned forward against the table. “Don’t you think the passage would be _hidden_? Or require a _password_? The castle was built using _magic_ , Potter!”

“So, what’s the password?” Neville asked, wiping a hand down his face slowly and blinking. It seemed he was just as enthusiastic about returning to that room as Harry was.

“I don’t know the _bloody_ password!” She huffed, glaring at Neville. “But I’ll work it out.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.” Harry replied neutrally. “But it could be _anything_ , or, more likely, this whole thing could be nothing at all.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Daphne snapped, leaping to her feet. She snatched up the book and clutched it to her chest. “I’ll do it myself.”

All around the table, Gryffindors were eyeing the three of them curiously, muttering amongst themselves in between bites of food. Harry glanced at Neville and the two of them shared a look before getting to their own feet – Neville picked up his bag, while Harry quickly slung his coat about his shoulders.

“She’s going to get us into trouble one of these days.” Neville muttered as they hurried toward the large doors, which Daphne was already through.

“Pretty sure we get into enough trouble _without_ Daphne.” He scoffed, breaking out into a slow jog. “It’s a wonder we don’t get more detentions.”

“It’s favouritism.” Neville grinned. “McGonagall likes us best, obviously.”

Harry couldn’t have stopped the snort even if he’d wanted to. Moments later, as they took the stairs two-at-a-time, they caught up to the determined Slytherin, who simply glared at them both out the corners of her eyes.

“I believe this is a record.” She sniffed, stepping onto the first landing, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone tiles.

“Look, just because we admitted you were right _once_ , doesn’t mean you’re always right.” Neville grumbled, hurrying up the stairs to the second floor. Harry chuckled as he followed, leaving Daphne to rush to keep up.

The three of them quickly ducked into the corridor – it was one of the wider ones in the school, and all along it there were small alcoves with shining suits of armour brandishing brutal looking weapons on either side. Occasionally they would pass the darkened doors of disused classrooms; the dark, shadowed alcoves seemed to swallow all the light as they passed quietly, their footsteps echoing up and down the corridor.

Eventually, they made their way to the entrance of the Trophy Room. To call it something as simple as a room was a gross exaggeration in Harry’s mind – it was a huge corridor that spanned the length of the castle on the eastern side, and looked out over the Forbidden Forest, the tops of the trees swaying gently in the evening breeze.

The ceiling was vaulted, with large chandeliers of _Magefyre_ candles; the cold blue light casting harsh shadows against the stone walls, the names on the plaques dancing in the flickering light. Each time they had come in search of the entrance to the _Chamber_ , Harry had always felt a strong sense of disquiet as he moved along the many alcoves, recesses, and display cases.

Even now, with both Neville and Daphne at his shoulder, he felt that familiar cold feeling creeping up the back of his neck; the hairs on his arms rising as his skin broke out into gooseflesh. His magic became agitated, and he got the distinct impression that he was being watched.

“Slytherin is down here, come on.” Daphne said, hurrying past him, the large book still clutched tightly to her chest.

They passed the statue of Godric Gryffindor first; once, when he was younger, Godric had been his hero – a proud, powerful warrior and wizard that fought against evil and vanquished dark wizards. Now, after reading the journals of the Founders themselves, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much of that had been made up.

The Godric he had read about had been a brash, arrogant man that was quick to anger. The Founders had been friends for most of their lives, most having grown up and studied together, and yet, that hadn’t stopped Godric from levelling his sword at Salazar’s throat during an argument.

Nobody had been blameless in that confrontation, and none of them, from what they had all read and shared with one-another, had been without blame for the destruction of their friendship. Harry hadn’t been able to stop himself from imagining their small group of friends in the Founders shoes – could he level the tip of his sword at Neville’s throat? Daphne’s? Tracey’s? _Hermione_ ’s?

He tore his eyes from the stone visage of the founder of Gryffindor House – Godric may have once been a great man, but Harry could no longer respect or admire a man that would turn on his friends so easily. It reminded him far too much of _Wormtail_.

Helga Hufflepuff was next – her statue was shorter than the others. The witch was depicted as the soft and plump person they had all seen before. It was her smile, and not her stature that drew his eye. It was wide and kind, and Harry felt himself smile in return as they hurried past.

Ravenclaw followed; her statue was made of white marble, unlike the other statues, which were made of plain stone, and her long, dark hair looked to be carved from glimmering onyx. He’d never paid much attention to it before, but now – now he stopped before it, his eyes raking over it.

There was something about it, some elusive _thing_ that he couldn’t quite place that called to him. If the statue were anything to go by, Rowena had been a beautiful woman, with sharp, angular features and full, smirking lips and dark, cascading hair that fell almost to her knees.

She clutched a thick volume in her hand, but the stone was so worn, there was no possible way to see if it ever had a title. The footsteps of Neville and Daphne halted, and he quickly glanced at the two of them. “There’s something about the statue – I’ve never really noticed it before.” He admitted.

“It doesn’t matter, come on.” Daphne huffed, rolling her eyes as she spun on her heel and continued her march toward Salazar, the last of the four. Harry’s body shivered slightly, a chill running up his spine, as he gave the statue one last look before hurrying to catch his two friends.

The statue of Salazar was the same material as Godric’s and Helga’s, only it was slightly larger – almost of a similar height to Rowena’s. Instead of staring forward, however, his head was turned toward the marble statue of Ravenclaw, his hands cupping the locket around his neck delicately.

The evidence of previous students was all over the statue – carvings of names, and messages for the alienated Founder pockmarked the once-pristine surface. Harry’s fingers traced the surface lightly and scowled.

There were dozens of messages, or scribbled insults not just to Salazar, but Slytherins as a whole, all over its surface. Some had been carved in by sharp object, like knives or daggers, while others, far more recent in their appearance, looked to have been placed magically.

It was an insult to the memory of Salazar. For all of his faults – and through reading his journals, Harry had gotten a sense of a few of them – he had still been a remarkable wizard who yearned to pass on his knowledge to those he deemed worthy, a goal shared by all of the Founders.

“This is it.” Daphne murmured. Harry glanced over his shoulder and looked at his friend – she was staring up with wide eyes at the statue, her mouth slightly open in wonder. “He must have been brilliant in his day.”

“They all must have been.” Neville agreed quietly. “We’ve looked all around here, but we never took the time to actually _look_ , you know?”

“Why do you think he’s staring at Rowena?” Harry asked. “Do you think it has anything to do with what Hermione thought – about him and her, I mean?”

Daphne shrugged as she stepped up next to him. “Possibly – nobody knows. He disappeared after he left Hogwarts, and she died a few years later. I’d like for it to be true; I think.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Daphne?” Neville scoffed, wincing as their Slytherin friend slapped him in the arm with the back of her hand.

“Just because all you think about is your next adventure, doesn’t mean we _all_ think about the same thing, Longbottom.”

“She’s got you there.” Harry snickered, watching his two friends out the corner of his eye. “Besides, I think it’s a little romantic; in a tragic sort of way.”

“Harry Potter, the romantic.” Neville grinned, causing him to roll his eyes as Daphne stepped up to the statue.

“You’re sure you both checked this over – every nook and cranny?”

“Without ripping it from the wall, yeah.” Harry nodded, stepping around it. “Look, it’s sunken into the brick like all the others. There’s no way around it – I think even the Dwarves would have trouble shifting it without bringing the whole alcove down.”

Daphne hummed quietly before placing her book down at the base of Salazar, her eyes scanning the likeness with a stubborn set to her jaw – Harry tried not to cringe outwardly, but nothing good ever came of that look. It was the same look she had just before she beat him into the dirt – the same one she’d had before dousing him with water while they were duelling.

“There’s nothing here, Daphne.” Neville sighed, throwing his arms up in the air. “Just a bunch of useless plaques and trophies.”

Harry shook his head and wandered to the far side of the room, to a section of wall between two large windows that housed a number of plaques. His eyes swept the names until one stood out – _Tom M Riddle_. He knew that name; it was the student that had turned Hagrid in the last time the _Chamber_ was opened – the plaque before him must have been awarded to him after that.

“ _Shit_!” Daphne cursed, and Harry whipped around. She was scowling at the statue and sucking on the pad of her index finger. Neville wandered over from where he’d been staring at the plaques in the alcove.

“What happened?” Neville asked, as Harry made his way back before the statue.

“ _I_ didn’t do anything – something _bit_ me!” Daphne growled dangerously. He could feel her anger in her magic, rolling off of her in waves.

“What were you doing? There’s nothing on that large enough to hide in – maybe you just nicked yourself on the stone?”

“I know the difference, Harry.” She snapped, quickly scowling at him. “I touched the _bloody_ locket.” She muttered.

“The locket? There’s nothing but the snake.” Harry muttered, reaching out and tracing the serpent with his finger.

“ _Who stirs Haju from slumber_?” A voice hissed softly, and Harry peered curiously at it, noting the faded runes that ran up and down the snake. Harry inched closer and watched in fascination as the stone snake _blinked_.

“It blinked.” Harry murmured, pointing at the snake – Haju, with wide eyes.

“What did?” Neville asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“The snake did, on the locket. See? It just blinked!”

“ _Of course_!” Daphne cried, throwing her arms in the air. “He was a _Parselmouth_ – it’d make sense for only another to find the door.”

“Uh, hello.” Harry said awkwardly, before clearing his throat. “Open the _Chamber of Secrets_.” He said, his voice much more assertive.

Nothing happened.

“Well _shit_ – one riddle down, one more to go.” Neville groaned as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Brilliant, that.”


	35. Harry XXIII

“I hate that snake.” Neville muttered, resting his head on his folded arms tiredly. They were sat at their table in the Library, hidden away by the partition to the Restricted Section by the many aisles of bookshelves, and the large collection of dusty tomes and scrolls that littered the bench.

“You’re not the one that has to talk to it.” Harry grouched, trying to force his eyes to follow along with the words on the page. He was currently reading _An Enchanters Excitements_ , a book that must have been at least three hundred years old if the battered cover and pages were anything to go by.

It was possibly the dullest read he’d ever had.

“True.” Neville hummed tiredly. “Sounds like a right arse.”

 _Haju_ , the guardian snake of Salazar Slytherin’s locket, was, indeed, an arse. He had bitten Daphne on no less than three occasions, Tracey once, and was content to simply hurl insults at Neville each time he opened his mouth. He was more courteous to Harry, of course, being the Parselmouth of the group – though that hadn’t meant that he’d _helped_.

Not that Harry could really blame the inanimate serpent – it was guardian, that much was clear. What use was a guardian on a door if it helped just anybody through? The problem was, however, finding out just what would allow them to pass, which is what had led them to the Library.

“I still don’t know why you tried to touch the snake that last time.” Tracey said, looking at Daphne, who rolled her eyes.

“I just wanted to give him a jab for biting me before.” She huffed, scowling at the page before her at the memory.

Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand as he turned the page. Daphne, usually the cautious one of their group, had been the least cautious with the snake. She had been bitten once, which had led to the startling discovery, and then a second time, the following day when she had tried to read the faded runes carved into it. The third, had been her attempt for revenge, and a wonderful source of teasing for the rest of them.

“Something funny, Potter?” She scowled at him, her nostrils flaring dangerously. He pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. “That’s what I thought.” She huffed, going back to her book.

“Has anyone actually found something they think would be useful, or are we just wasting our time?” Tracey moaned, leaning back in her chair, and throwing her arms out to the side. “There’s got to be a better way of doing this.”

“I say we just blast it open.” Neville muttered, his head still in his folded arms atop his own book.

“Excellent idea, Neville – lets bring that whole part of the room down on top of us, shall we?”

“No need to get snippy, Daphne.”

“I-“ Daphne began, only to let out a heavy sigh and rub at her temples and close her eyes. “You’re right, this is getting us nowhere.”

“We’re all tired from _Astronomy_ last night – why don’t we just get a decent night and come back to it tomorrow after classes?” Harry offered, looking around at everyone – they all nodded, even Neville, buried in the crook of his arm. “Alright, let’s get the books back where they belong, and we’ll get going – do you have the list?” He asked, looking at the Greengrass Heiress, who just nodded tiredly.

It had been quickly decided that Daphne would be the caretaker of the list of which books they were reading, and what pages they’d reached; Tracey and Neville weren’t deemed responsible enough by the Slytherin, and Harry didn’t need to be told why _he_ wasn’t the keeper.

He slammed his book closed, harder than he’d meant to, but in a childish way, it felt good to enact some petty form of revenge on the volume after it had sucked him dry of any and all motivation for the remainder of the day. He pushed his chair out with the back of his knees as he stood, picking up the volume and half a dozen others as he made his way over to the stacks, the others doing likewise.

He quickly went through the process of making sure they were all in their correct places on the shelves, keeping to the alphabetical system that Madame Pince maintained – he’d caught her giving a pair of fifth year Gryffindors a tongue lashing for not returning their books to the correct places at the start of the year, and had no desire to experience it first-hand.

With the books returned, he made his way back to the table and threw his coat on, tugging on the sleeves when they got stuck on his doublet beneath. Daphne arrived back first, her coat already on, with Tracey and finally Neville joining them moments later.

Neither he nor Neville had brought their bags with them, so they simply waited for the girls to gather theirs before they set off.

The sun had long since set, and the cold beams of light from the moon filtered in lazily through the large windows. It was a clear night, and the half-moon shone brightly in the night sky, thousands of tiny little stars flickering all around it.

The hour was late, and curfew would be arriving any minute, so it wasn’t any surprise that they were the last to leave the Library – not even Madame Pince was around to see them out, her large desk absent of her stern presence.

They walked the halls in silence, their footsteps echoing off of the stone beneath them as they made their way back to their separate Common Rooms – Tracey yawned, and Neville stretched his arms above his head with a groan.

The candlelight and the torches mounted on the walls flickered in their mountings as they passed, casting long, dark shadows on the various suits of armour and dark nooks and crannies of Hogwarts. There was a silence about the castle this late in the evening that Harry found to be relaxing, peaceful, even.

They turned a corridor, after passing by the Transfiguration Courtyard, and came upon the backs of most of the staff of Hogwarts, crowded around something on the wall. Harry paled, and glanced at his friends and noticed their similar pallor – Ned Ibex had been attacked only a few days ago, a Ravenclaw student a few years above them; surely there couldn’t have been another attack so soon?

They darted behind a nearby pillar, Harry pressing himself up against the cold stone as the others peered around his shoulder.

“-another message.” McGonagall was saying, Snape at her side with his long, black, bat-like robes. Madame Pomfrey was there, her red and white Healer’s robes standing out against the dark evening wear of the rest of the staff. He also spied Professors Reyne, Ash, Babbling, Sinistra, and Flitwick amongst the huddle.

“Our worst fear has been realised; a student has been taken by the Basilisk into the _Chamber_ itself!” McGonagall exclaimed, and Harry’s eyes bulged out of their sockets – Ruhxu had _taken_ someone? That didn’t make any sense, it would have had to have been whoever was controlling her. “The students _must_ be sent home – I’m afraid this is the end of Hogwarts.” She continued; her voice strained.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Harry peered out a little further in an attempt to spot the new arrival. There, in a garish, lilac three-piece-suit, was Lockhart. “So sorry, dozed off – what have I missed?” He asked with a smile, clasping his hands at the small of his back as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Harry scowled at the man, feeling his magic simmering at the sight of him. He’d been a _useless_ professor all year, and they’d barely learned a thing. The one time he’d seen the man actually do his job was during the class on Pixies, and that had ended in disaster as well!

“A girl has been snatched by the Basilisk, Lockhart, your moment has come at last.” Snape sneered, and for a brief, petty moment, Harry couldn’t work out which wizard he despised more – the pompous fool, or the greasy bat.

“M-my m-moment?” Lockhart blinked, wide-eyed. The Professors all turned to look upon him.

“Weren’t you saying just last night that you knew all along where the entrance to the _Chamber of Secrets_ is?” Snape answered him quickly. There was a beat of silence, and Harry could feel the waves of panic and fear rolling off of the _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ professor.

“That’s settled, then. We’ll leave you to deal with the monster, Gilderoy. Your skills after all are legendary. The rest of us shall move the students to the Great Hall – better to have them all in one place than all over the castle.” McGonagall declared, looking about the staff, who all nodded.

“Very well, I’ll uh, I’ll just be in my office then, getting… getting _ready_.” Lockhart nodded, his voice confident, though his magic was anything but. Lockhart strode away quickly, his footsteps fading away as he turned the corner further down the corridor.

“Who is it that’s been taken, Minerva?” Pomfrey asked.

“Gin-.” McGonagall paused, before turning to look in his direction. “Misters Potter and Longbottom should desist in their eavesdropping – and bring Miss Greengrass and Davis with you.”

Harry winced and stepped out from behind the pillar with the others following – a hissed curse from Tracey the only sound of protest. “We didn’t mean to, Professor.”

“I’m sure you didn’t – it must have been difficult, to decide to hide behind that pillar instead of returning to the Common Room, hm?” She asked, fixing him with a look. “I trust you heard more than enough?”

“Yes, Professor.” They all grumbled, looking between themselves.

“I see.” She said slowly, clasping her hands before her. “I trust, then, that you’ll cease your incessant search for the _Chamber_ , then?” She asked, and Harry felt his jaw drop involuntarily. “Oh, we’ve known of the books you’ve all been reading for quite some time – you are, after all, not the first students to go looking.”

“First to find it, though.” Neville muttered, and groaned as Daphne elbowed him sharply in the side.

“You found it?” Snape scoffed, rolling his dark eyes. “The arrogance to think-“

“It’s in the Trophy Room.” Harry snapped at the professor, narrowing his eyes at the man. “We think we found the door, but we don’t know how to open it. Salazar’s statue has a snake on it.”

“A snake?” Flitwick frowned, moving forward. “I know the statues well – I assume you’re talking about the one on his locket?”

“Aye – it’s called _Haju_. It speaks.”

“It’s probably enchanted, then.” Espinoza, the young, temporary stand-in for Professor Cantrill, nodded, stroking his lightly bearded chin and frowning. “I’ve never heard of an enchantment that mimics Parseltongue before, though.”

“Well, that’s what it does. Unless Lockhart is a Parselmouth, I don’t see him getting past _Haju_.” Harry frowned. He looked between the professors arrayed before him, all looking doubtful and muttering amongst themselves. “Look, Ruhxu _has_ someone down there – or whoever is controlling her.”

“Ah, of course – Potter knows the name of the beast. How fitting.” Snape drawled.

“Of course I do!” Harry snapped. “I’ve been shunned for being a Parselmouth for the best part of a year.”

“ _Mister_ _Potter_ , may I remind you to address professors with the appropriate respect.” McGonagall chastised, and Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Harry had respect for the man’s talent with potions, nothing more.

“Sorry, Professor McGonagall.”

“Good – now, Mister Filch will escort the four of you to the Great Hall, where, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the rest of the students will join you momentarily.”

“With respect, Professor – we know where the entrance is. Even if you contact the Aurors, you’ll not get it open without Harry’s help.” Daphne said quickly, her shoulders back and her chin raised defiantly. “You’ll need a Parselmouth.”

“It is a good job we have one in Miss Valencia, then, is it not? I understand that you feel the need to help, but believe me, we adults can, and _will_ handle this.”

“Hadn’t thought about Micca.” Neville muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“That’s a first.” Tracey scoffed.

“Alright you four, come on.” Filch grunted, gesturing for them to follow as he plodded down the corridor. The staff all dispersed quickly at that, jogging in every which way, no doubt to comb the castle of students while the Heads of House saw to their Houses.

Harry trailed slowly after the limping caretaker, and as they passed the section of wall the staff had been huddled around, Harry could clearly see what had gotten them so worked up. There, written in blood, strikingly similar to the message he’d seen at the start of the year, were the words: _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_.

He felt an involuntary chill run down his spin, and only Neville’s hand squeezing his shoulder allowed him to tear his eyes away from it finally. His magic began to tingle along his fingers, like an itch that wouldn’t leave him, as he thought about the coming evening.

It was the culmination of the attacks throughout the year – some were bolder than others – but this wasn’t just a random attack on a Muggle-born student. It was a statement, perhaps even the last one before whatever grand outcome the mastermind had in store – either way, it would no doubt end one way or another tonight.

Harry glanced at his two Slytherin friends ahead of him and Neville; their arms were intertwined, and it felt strange seeing them like that without Hermione in the middle, chattering away about something or another.

This was really it – the end of Hogwarts.

He started to breath heavily, his chest suddenly feeling tight and painful as the realisation struck him. Hermione would never see the halls they loved so much again – the Library would be nothing but a memory for her. They would all be separated, cursed to see each other only on holidays and talk via owl. Where would Neville go? Daphne? Tracey? They weren’t limited by the country for their education – they could literally end up _anywhere_. Would they be separated by continents and oceans?

His vision began to darken in the corners, and he stumbled into the wall – he heard Neville’s cry of alarm as his skin beaded with sweat. His mouth felt dry, like the oldest parchment in the Library, and he felt dizzy.

“Useless, stupid boy – get up before I drag you there.” Filch snarled as he appeared before him; his eyes refused to focus, and for a terrifying moment, there were two of them towering over him with thin, greasy, lanky hair. “Now, wouldn’t _that_ be a sight? The great _Harry_ _Potter_ dragged into the Great Hall by the scruff of his neck.”

“Don’t you dare touch him.” Neville growled, as he, Daphne, and Tracey all levelled their wands at the man – Harry groaned as he tried to keep his stomach from ending up over the floor.

“Put those wands away, you _stupid_ children. Barely a wonder you haven’t killed anyone, waving those things around – got close though, with your Muggle-born friend, didn’t you?” He grinned, and Harry slammed his eyes shut and gripped at the sides of his head.

“No.” He moaned, feeling the pressure building inside of him – his fingers started twitching first. “No.” He repeated, just as pitifully. He felt Filch grab a fistful of the back of his coat. “No, no.” He groaned, stumbling forward as the caretaker dragged him. “ _No_!” Harry screamed, throwing his head back and his arms out.

The pressure in his head burst, and for a moment, there was blissful nothingness – he was beyond time, and thought, and feeling. He could feel the insects crawling along the stone bricks, the bats flying through the trees of the forest, and the presence of the Giant Squid in the middle of the lake.

All too soon, reality returned, and he dropped to his knees, panting as he fell forward on his arms. Everything hurt – his knees especially, already sure of the bruises that would form there. He blinked his eyes open slowly, hissing at the pale cyan that tinged the edge of his vision, and the crumpled form of Filch across from him; he looked around, noting the collapsed suits of armour in their small alcoves. Had he done all of that?

“Harry?” Tracey asked quietly. He looked up slowly and almost fell on his side, if not for Daphne bracing him. “Harry, are you alright?”

He just groaned and fought to keep the contents of his stomach down before nodding pitifully. “You really did a number on Filch.” Neville murmured, causing Harry to glance at the man once again. There was a large crack in the stonework above him – no doubt from where he’d struck it with some force. That Harry could still see the rise and fall of his chest was the only thing that hadn’t sent him into a full panic.

“Come on, we need to get out of here.” Daphne said, lifting Harry up by his arm, Neville mimicking her on the other side of him. “We can’t go to the Great Hall – we need to make sure that Lockhart knows how to get in; maybe he might know the password.”

Neville snorted at his side as Harry grimaced. “Lockhart was one second away from pissing himself – he’ll bolt, mark my words.”

“Anyone would want to bolt at the _idea_ of a Basilisk, Neville.” Tracey shot back before taking a deep breath. “He _is_ a bit useless.”

“A bit?” Harry groaned, stumbling over to a nearby wall and taking some deep breaths. “ _Merlin_ , what happened? I feel _awful_.”

“You blew Filch into the wall – your eyes went all misty and everything.” Tracey answered him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “Are you sure you’re alright?

“I’ll be fine – I just need a minute.”

“We might not _have_ a minute.” Daphne said from behind him. “A professor could come through here at any moment.”

“We could call Sirius and Amelia?” Neville said, and Harry nodded slowly, feeling his roiling insides settle a little – it wasn’t perfect, but at least he no longer felt like he was about to throw up over everyone’s feet.

“Amelia needs to know.” Harry muttered, pushing himself up properly and only briefly feeling his stomach roll. “Whoever is controlling the Basilisk, Ruhxu, I mean – they have someone in the _Chamber_.”

“So, what? It’s like a kidnapping?” Neville asked, with a frown.

“Or a ritual, perhaps.” Daphne added. “In which case, the Aurors need to be here _now_ – the longer whoever it is, is down there, the more likely they won’t be coming out.”

“What are the chances of something else entirely? Something we missed?” Tracey asked, looking between Neville and Daphne as she shifted from foot to foot anxiously.

“Slim.” Daphne grimaced. “Come on then, we’ll let Sirius know, and then we’ll go after Lockhart.” She said, already hurrying down the corridor.

Harry spared one last look at the crumpled caretaker before jogging after his three friends. They weren’t far from the Transfiguration Courtyard, and it was only a few minutes away from the Great Staircase, which would be a straight shot to the Gryffindor Common Room, and then his bedroom.

They passed all number of portraits, most of them empty, or some lifeless. The torchlight cast long shadows over them as they ran past, and their footsteps echoed up and down the corridor, until Daphne skidded to a halt and Neville slammed into her.

“Why’d you stop?” Tracey asked, peering around the corner. “Oh, _shit_! It’s Ravenclaw and Gryffindor! Quick, hide!”

“ _Where_?” Neville demanded, looking around at the empty corridor, bereft of any useful doors or handy hiding places. “There’s nowhere to hide!” He hissed.

Harry looked around, only to spot a portrait that he could have sworn had been empty when they had first passed it, waving at them frantically. He tapped his friends on the arms and quickly pointed at the portrait on the far side of the corridor. “I think it’s trying to get our attention.” He said, hurrying over to it – there was nothing better to do, after all. The rumble of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor voices drew closer every second.

“Good Sers, young Ladies – I hear that you require a place of safety for the near future, aye?” The armoured Knight asked, clasping his armoured hands before him as he peered at them through the visor of his helmet.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Tracey muttered, glancing over her shoulder.

“Have no fear – do you see that tapestry over there? There is a small recess behind it, large enough for the four of you, I should think – once the danger has passed, return to me, and I’ll await you here.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder and looked at the tapestry in question – it hung heavily against the stone wall, with not the slightest hint of a hidden recess. He looked back at the painting, his disbelief clear on his face, only to watch the Knight wander out of the frame. The voices were just around the corner now.

“Do as he says!” Daphne hissed, hurrying to the large bolt of cloth and ducking behind it. The three of them glanced at one another before following quickly. Harry made sure both Neville and Tracey entered first, with him following shortly after. Just as he ducked behind it, the first of the students passed the intersection, their voices loud and hurried.

Harry blinked into the darkness, listening to the heavy breathing of his friends – they were packed tightly together, their bodies barely fitting into the small alcove. Moments later, the familiar Scottish Brogue of McGonagall reached his ears and he winced at the thought of the tongue-lashing they were likely to receive.

They waited until the footsteps faded away – all that remained between themselves and the Gryffindor Common Room now was the Great Staircase and the portrait of the Fat Lady. He inched out, slowly, until he could glance up and down the corridor clearly. “They’re gone!” He hissed, stepping into the corridor fully, and looking to the portrait, where the Knight once again was standing proudly.

The four of them made their way over to the Knight, Harry glancing up and down the hallway every now and then. “Ah, I see you have remained undiscovered – good, this will no doubt aid you on your quest.”

“Quest?” Harry blinked, looking up at the angular visor, confused. “We’re just trying to get to Gryffindor Tower, and then we’ll be going to Professor Lockhart to tell-“

“-him about the Basilisk, aye? My boy, who do you think told the professors just _what_ was prowling the corridors?”

“Excuse me, but, who the _bloody_ -“

“Neville!” Tracey hissed, elbowing him in the side. She cleared her throat and looked back at the picture on the wall. Harry thought she looked far too pleased with herself. “My friend meant to _politely_ ask just who you are.”

The Knight chuckled heartily, a deep, rich sound. “My dear children, my name is Ser Cadogan, of House Iddon. As for the foul creature that has roamed these halls, it was I who alerted the Headmaster and staff – a Basilisk’s gaze has no effect on a portrait.”

“Because you’re not alive.” Harry murmured as the Knight – Ser Cadogan – nodded at him.

“Indeed, young Lord, and I believe I have _just_ the thing to send the beast back whence it came.”

“What’s that?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor, of course!”

“ _Bollocks_!” Neville cried, throwing his arms out. “The sword’s been lost for centuries.”

“Not unlike the _Chamber of Secrets_ , hm? I assure you, young Lord, I know its location.” Ser Cadogan answered, the tin-like, muffled voice of the Knight patient. Harry glanced at his friends before looking back at the portrait.

“Why not give it to the professors? Or the Aurors when they get here?” He asked, frowning.

“That is the true question, is it not? I know not why this burden must fall to you, young Lord, only that it must – the castle itself demands it.”

“The castle?” Harry blinked, looking around the corridor. “I-“ He began, only for his eyes to widen. “It’s not _just_ a castle, is it?” He breathed quietly, looking up at the Knight, who nodded solemnly.

“Aye – a castle constructed of and seeped in magic.”

“Come – I am to direct you to the blade. Meet me on the fifth floor, the northern corridor, at a portrait similar to this one. There, I shall guide you further – quick, go now.” Cadogan commanded, shooing the four of them away.

Harry backed up slowly and watched as the Knight disappeared out of the frame, glancing at his friends. “I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

“If it’s something that can hurt the Basilisk, I’m all for it.” Neville agreed. “I don’t believe for a second it’s _the_ sword, though.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Daphne hummed. “Come on, we’ve got no time to lose.”

Harry nodded and set off quickly down the corridor, his arms and legs pumping as he skidded around the corner to the Great Staircase. Neville was at his side, with Daphne and Tracey bringing up the rear. Thankfully, the stairs seemed to have been frozen into place, no doubt by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick.

The four of them bounded up the stairs two-at-a-time, darting from landing to landing. By the time they reached the fifth floor, all were wheezing and panting heavily. Harry couldn’t remember a time when his legs had burned so much.

They sprinted to the northern corridor, the shadows of the torches somehow feeling darker and more oppressing the further they travelled from the staircases, until eventually, they found the portrait of Ser Cadogan waiting patiently for them, in a tall frame that sat next to an ancient-looking door.

“Excellent, excellent, please, enter the room.” The Knight called, pointing to the door.

“I don’t remember that door being there before.” Daphne panted, bracing herself against her knees. Harry was inclined to agree – they’d walked the corridor a number of times, and not once had there been a door there before.

With a startling sense of déjà vu, Harry was reminded of the magic that had kept the _Mirror of Erised_ hidden from the school at large – was it too much to think it similar magic? The moment Harry’s fingers touched the dark, flaking wood of the door, it swung open on silent hinges.

There was nothing inside, but for a pair of portraits – Cadogan stepped into one, while the other was a beautiful depiction of a sword. It had a milk-white blade with runes etched into it, a large ruby planted in the centre of the cross-guard, and a wicked looking pommel.

“I knew it – he’s mad.” Neville wheezed, leaning against the wall, and clutching at his side. “Nothing, but a painting.”

Harry looked over his shoulder at his friend and pursed his lips – he was right, there was nothing in here but a painting; a beautiful one, but a painting, nonetheless.

“The Sword of Gryffindor has remained here for a thousand years, and for a thousand more it shall remain.” Cadogan said from his portrait, drawing himself to his full, imposing height. “Reach into the painting, lad, and let it serve you well this night.”

Harry looked between the portrait and his friends – Daphne shrugged, while Neville and Tracey simply shook their heads silently. With a shrug, Harry stepped forward and thrust his hand toward the painting of the sword, expecting to feel the canvas beneath his fingertips.

Instead, he gasped when he felt nothing – he flexed his fingers and rolled his wrist, until his fingers wrapped around the leather grip of the sword; it was lighter than he’d expected. He pulled his arm back, and as the sword materialised in his hand, it faded from the portrait.

Unlike the painting, the sword he held in his hand was sheathed in a simple scabbard, though it was without a belt. He shifted the blade to his left hand, hearing the gasps behind him, and the cheering of the Knight. He held it by the scabbard and wrapped his right hand around the hilt, lifting it just enough to peer at the milk-white blade and the elegant Goblin runes carved into its surface.

“I-“ He began, looking up at his friends. “This is Godric Gryffindor’s _sword_.” He breathed, feeling his knees go weak. Neville was at his side instantly, holding him up by the elbow.

“I don’t believe it.” Neville murmured, tracing the hilt with light fingers once Harry felt more secure on his feet. “It’s the _bloody_ Sword of Gryffindor!”

“Boys and their toys.” Daphne sighed, shaking her head. She smiled at him. “Good job, Harry.”

“I-“ He began, blinking.

“I would suggest, dear children, that you continue with your plan.” Cadogan suggested, cutting him off. Harry nodded dumbly and staggered to the door, cradling the weapon in his hands.

“Thank you, Ser Cadogan!” He called as he left the room, getting over his stunned shock. He jogged back the way they had come, quickly returning to the Grand Staircase and darting up the last two levels to the portrait of the Fat Lady. The woman was conspicuously absent, however, and it wasn’t until the Knight himself edged his way into the portrait, holding an armoured finger up to his helmet, that the door swung open.

Harry stepped through the portrait first and noted the chaotic mess of the Common Room – it seemed everyone had immediately stopped whatever it was they were doing and followed McGonagall out of the room.

On many tables, were open textbooks and rolls of parchment; one such piece of parchment was soaked through by ink, the dark liquid dripping slowly from the edge of the table and onto an ever increasingly dark spot on the carpet.

The fire continued its crackling in the hearth, and the smouldering remains of a game of _Exploding Snap_ hissed on the coffee table before it. Not far, the pieces of two sets of _Wizards Chess_ enacted their own private war with double the numbers as they quietly screamed their battle cries.

He swept through the Common Room, stepping over pieces of parchment and tipped over books – if Hermione could see the state of the room, she’d have thrown a fit and insisted on righting the books, regardless of the rush and urgency. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted his friends also picking their way through the detritus of his and Neville’s House.

Arriving at the foot of the staircase, he darted up it, once more taking the steps two-at-a-time, and threw the door open to his own little common room. Clara was out hunting – he knew that, and he’d sent Hedwig off with a letter to Diagon Alley only the day before, so he had no issue with how noisily he threw open his bedroom door.

His eyes snapped to the piece of mirror on the bedside table and immediately tapped it with his wand. “Sirius Black.” He said quickly, panting.

The mirror vibrated once before Sirius and Amelia’s faces appeared, looking up at him curiously. “Pup?” Sirius asked, confused as he moved – it seemed the pair of them had been in bed, if the rustle of sheets were anything to go by. “What’s wrong? You weren’t meant to call for another hour or so yet.”

“It’s Ruhxu.” He said, feeling his friends crowding around him to look into the mirror themselves. “Whoever released her has a student in the _Chamber_.”

“ _Shit_!” Amelia cursed, her face disappearing from the mirror as Sirius too scrambled from the bed.

“Harry-“ Sirius began warningly. “I told you not to go looking for it.”

“I didn’t! We walked into the professors talking about it! There was a warning written in blood on the wall for _Merlin_ ’s sake!” Harry answered him. “All the students have been taken to the Great Hall – I think they plan to let the Aurors know from there.”

“Why aren’t you with the rest of them then?” Sirius asked with narrowed eyes as he shrugged on a tunic. “Why can I see your room?”

“We got-“ He paused, thinking of the right word. “ _separated_ from Filch.”

“And how, _exactly_ , did that happen?”

“Harry blew him into a wall.” Neville supplied cheerfully. “It was brilliant.”

Harry cringed as Daphne and Tracey groaned into their hands. “That’s the gist of it.” He muttered, before holding up the sheathed sword for Sirius to see. “We also have the Sword of Gryffindor, too.”

Sirius made a choking noise as he buttoned up a doublet, and Amelia quickly swept into the image, patting, and rubbing Sirius’s back. “You can’t be serious, Harry.” She said, peering into the mirror over his shoulder. “That sword has been lost for over a thousand years.”

“I pulled it out of a painting that Ser Cadogan showed me.”

“Ser Cadogan? The Knight that guards the _Divination_ corridor?” She asked, disbelievingly.

Harry nodded and passed the mirror to Daphne, before tossing the sheathed weapon onto his bed. He pushed past everyone in his room and quickly made his way to the stand with his armour. His fingers danced over the diamond, quilted patterning of the gambeson before lifting it up and over, dumping it on the bed alongside the sword. The Mithril chainmail glinted in the moonlight, and it made a soft tinkling noise as he lifted it off the stand.

“Harry – that’s _Mithril_!” Tracey gasped. “You never said your chainmail was _bloody Mithril_!”

“His chainma-“ Amelia and Sirius’s voices called from the mirror, only for Sirius to start bellowing. “ _Harry James Potter_ , don’t you _dare_ put that armour on, young man!”

For the first time in his life, Harry ignored Sirius, and threw his coat off, letting it pool around his feet. He quickly shimmied the chainmail shirt on, shifting it this way and that as it settled on his shoulders. It hung open on his left side, and Harry quickly twisted to tie it securely – there were six leather ties, all running down his side from hip to just below his armpit. When he got to the last one, it was Neville that stepped up and fastened it without a word.

“ _Harry_!” Sirius called, and Harry glanced up to a wincing Daphne who was chewing on her lips. “Harry, I _swear_ -“

“Or _what_ , Sirius?” Harry snapped finally. “Whoever is releasing Ruhxu has someone down there – what part of that don’t you get? By the time Amelia gets here, with enough Aurors, _and_ a Parselmouth – oh yeah, we found the entrance, by the way – they could be _dead_!”

“You are a _child_!” Sirius bellowed, and even from here, Harry thought he could feel the waves of magic rolling off of the mirror.

“I am – and _you_ raised me to do what’s right. _This_ is what’s right!” He snapped, pointing to a nearby table that Daphne could place the mirror down on, which she hurried to do. With Neville finished tying the chainmail into place, Harry pulled the gambeson over his head, groaning as its weight settled on his shoulders.

Unlike the chainmail, the gambeson only had a pair of small buckles on each side, which he quickly sorted himself. After that, he quickly snatched up a hair-tie and put his hair up in a knot at the back of his head – it would do no good to have his hair flying this way and that.

“Harry,” Sirius tried, his voice softer now. “Please – wait for Amelia to get there.”

“I’m going to show Lockhart where the entrance is, if he hasn’t already bolted, that is. If I manage to get it open, all I’ll do is try and clear the way of anything needing a Parselmouth – I’ll try and keep it open behind me.”

“Are _none_ of you going to stop him?” Sirius demanded, and when Harry glanced at the mirror, he saw his godfather glancing up and down at the mirror as he ran – he recognised the mountain range beyond the Black Lake in the background; evidently, he’d already apparated to Hogwarts.

“I’d like to see you stop him when he sets his mind to something.” Tracey muttered, folding her arms across her chest. Neither Daphne nor Neville said anything – the latter already helping him attach his vambraces. Harry flicked his wand in and out of its holster, making sure the armour didn’t restrict it.

With the vambraces secured, the last piece of his armour was the gorget. Neville quickly set it around his throat and fastened it securely; the cold of the metal just barely ghosting his throat, with naught but his doublet acting as a barrier between them. He turned around and picked his sword from the wall mount, the long leather buckle dangling lazily back and forth.

It wasn’t a fancy sword – just one he’d found in the armoury of Arpton. A simple, steel, hand-and-a-half sword with a wolfs head pommel with onyx eyes. He glanced back to the Sword of Gryffindor on his bed, and quickly threaded the belt through that scabbard too, both swords sitting side by side on his left hip as he tied the belt around his waist.

He quickly knelt and pulled the dagger from his boot and slid it into the sheath at the small of his back before looking up at the mirror, Sirius was railing against the closed gate of Hogwarts. The muted cracks of the arriving Aurors carrying through into his room.

It was on the tip of his tongue – something he could say, that would make it all better, that would make Sirius understand why he was doing what he was doing. What could make him understand that if they wasted any more time, someone could lose their life somewhere in the castle tonight? Harry sighed and flicked his wand into his hand, levelling it at the mirror – a little push of magic, and the mirror darkened.

“Harry!” Tracey hissed, grabbing his arm. “You can’t seriously be thinking of going into the _Chamber_!”

Harry looked at her and nodded once, his jaw set.

“You could _die_!” She cried, throwing her arms out and looking at Neville and Daphne. Harry glanced at the two of them out of the corners of his eyes – Neville’s face was unreadable, and Daphne was staring at the floor and chewing on her thumb. “Someone tell him!”

“Harry,” Neville began slowly, his voice rough as he stepped forward. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

He smiled and quickly pulled Neville against him, wrapping his arms around him. The truth was, despite all he’d said to Sirius, he was terrified – he didn’t want to enter the _Chamber_ , or even try and get it open. He wanted to go down to the Great Hall and trust it would be resolved without him, but he couldn’t do that; he _wouldn’t_ do that.

“I need you to meet Sirius, Amelia and the Aurors and bring them to the statue – can you do that for me?” He asked, pulling away from Neville.

“Of course.” Neville nodded, stepping around him and moving to the door – he paused on the threshold and looked back at him. “Whatever happens, you’ll be alright, Harry.”

Harry nodded with a small, reluctant smile, before watching Neville dart through the common room, and out the door to the Common Room proper, the dull thud of the portrait marking his departure from Gryffindor Tower. Daphne appeared at his arm, wrapping it with her own as she placed her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t want you to do this, Harry. This is _far_ more dangerous than last year.” She sniffed, picking her head up. “But you wouldn’t be Harry if you didn’t do it.” She let go and angrily wiped her cheek.

“I might not even manage to get it.” He said, moving to the door, his footsteps heavy against the floorboards, echoed by the clinking of his sword belt and chainmail. The two girls were quickly behind him, rushing through the small room and darting down the stairs after him.

He didn’t bother to tip-toe around anything on his way through the Common Room on his way out – his armour would have made it far more difficult than it needed to be, though he avoided the strewn books where he could. As he ducked out of the portrait, with Daphne and Tracey on his heels, the voice of Cadogan gave him pause as he looked over his shoulder.

“My dear boy – it does this old Knight good to see you so outfitted for battle.” The Knight said softly as the portrait swung shut with a soft click. “That this burden falls to you breaks my heart. Be true, be brave, and be ruthless this night.”

“Thank you, Ser.” Harry murmured, placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head slightly – it was something he’d seen the warriors at Arpton do on a number of occasions, and it felt _right_. Cadogan repeated the action before stepping from the frame, leaving the three of them at the top of the staircase.

He spun on his heel and immediately began to hurry down the stairs to the second floor. Halfway down, they spotted the retreating back of Professor Lockhart, sprinting down the last staircase and around the corner loaded with his luggage, many of his shirts and coats falling out from his hasty packing.

“I guess that answers that, then.” Tracey scowled.

“Coward.” Daphne spat, pushing from the bannister. “Come on!” She said, leading the charge to the statue.

They made it to the second floor with a renewed sense of urgency, sprinting all out as they entered the first corridor. They ran past the familiar doors and windows, leaving them as nothing more than blurs in their periphery before entering the Trophy Room itself.

It was much the same as it had been any other time they had arrived here, and the familiar whispering in the back of his mind returned as he passed Ravenclaw’s statue. He came to a skidding halt just before Salazar, and he glared at Haju before ghosting his finger along his body.

“ _Who stirs Haju from slumber_?” The snake hissed, blinking up at him. Harry chewed on his cheek and began to pace back and forth, his hands on his hips as he tried to think of the right response.

“The Heir of Slytherin.” He tried after a moment, growling when nothing worked. His magic began to coil. It was _stupid_ that he was standing before the entrance now – there were adults that were supposed to handle this, after all, that’s what adults were _for_ , not a _child_. “Open, damn you!” He snapped, kicking the shins of Salazar.

“Harry!” Tracey said, stepping in front of him. “Calm down!”

“Calm down? There’s someone _down_ there, Tracey, and this stupid thing won’t,” He snapped, brushing past the girl, and balling his fist, feeling his magic wrapping itself around his hand. “Open!” He yelled, punching the statue, hissing as he felt the skin on a knuckle break. He turned around, glaring at the broken skin, and shaking his hand.

He sucked air between his teeth and paced away slowly. “How am I supposed to be calm right now?”

“Harry, look!” Daphne called, pointing to the spot where he’d bled on the statue – he stepped closer, his eyes wide as the blood was absorbed by the stone.

“ _The Old Blood answers true – the Chamber is opened._ ” Haju hissed as the statue sank into the floor, revealing a dark staircase hidden in the wall. Harry blinked dumbly as he looked between the entrance and his two friends.

“We did it.” He mumbled. “We _actually_ did it.”

“I don’t believe it…” Tracey agreed quietly. Slowly, Harry approached the threshold and ran his hand over the smooth stone bricks that made up the wall – they were damp, slicked with warm droplets, and a glowing lichen similar to what they had found last year. It pulsed gently.

“I need the two of you to go and look after Hermione for me.” He said, staring into the darkness of the staircase. Even with the lichen on the walls, it seemed to absorb light, with only an inky abyss waiting for him. He nodded to himself as he pursed his lips. “I’m going to try and open anything between here and wherever they need to go.”

“You can’t be serious – we’re going with you!” Tracey snapped furiously.

“Harry-“ Daphne said, and he finally turned to look at her. Their eyes locked, his emerald green meeting her ice blue. In that moment, he had never felt more desperate or fearful. There was every chance he was walking to his death at the bottom of the staircase, and he _needed_ to make sure Hermione would be alright. “Tracey,” Daphne said slowly, nodding at him as she grabbed at Tracey’s wrist. “Let’s do as he says.” She sniffed; her eyes shiny and voice thick.

“You-“ Tracey began, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Damn you, Potter.” She growled, throwing her arms around his neck. “You come back, so I can kill you myself.” She ordered, and Harry patted her on the back, smiling into her hair.

The moment Tracey released him; Daphne had him in a crushing embrace, one of the few hugs he’d been given by her. Her shoulders trembled slightly, but other than that, she was silent. “It’ll be alright, Daphne.” He murmured, squeezing her around the shoulders.

“You don’t know that.” She whispered.

“I don’t, but I have to do this.” He said softly, breathing in deeply.

“I know.” She answered him, pulling away reluctantly. As she moved away, he saw just how red her eyes were, and the clear tear tracks running down her cheeks. She scrubbed at her cheeks furiously with the base of her hands and cleared her throat. “You come back – once Tracey’s killed you, its my turn, and then it’ll be Hermione’s.” She nodded.

He grinned as he backed up into the space beyond the statue, only for his stomach to suddenly plummet as the statue began to rise from the floor. He darted forward, trying to pull it back down, but up and up it went. “No, no, no, no!” He yelled. “Stay open! Haju! Stay open!”

There was no response, other than for Daphne and Tracey’s panicked shouts from the other side, both of them trying their best to keep the statue down. Just before his fingers became trapped, he let go, breathing heavily into the darkness as his eyes darted around. There was a deep, echoing boom, and then, there was nothing – no sound but for his breathing, and no light but for the pulsing, strange lichen.

He turned on the spot and flicked his wand into his hand, whispering a quiet _Lumos_ , which lit the small area up. There was no way but down, and so it was down he went. He picked his steps carefully, the harsh, white light from the tip of his wand holding the darkness at bay as he inched his way down the tight spiral.

Down, and down he went, until the neat stone bricks gave way to rough, damp rock. Small insects skittered away from him as the light from his wand illuminated them. There were dozens upon dozens in his descent, ranging from quick worm-like creatures, to ones with far too many legs and pincers. In the darkness, they clicked and clacked, and more than one squealed as he stepped on them.

He gave them no further thought as he came to the bottom of the staircase. It was a dark cavern, with sharp rocks above him, and large stalactites hanging dangerously on either side of a narrow path. The steady drip, drip of water echoed throughout the chamber and small beams of moonlight filtered in through high cracks in the ceiling – he had no idea what part of the castle he was under.

The snapping of bone made him wince as it echoed throughout the chamber, and he quickly glanced down to see the floor was littered with all sorts of bones. There were lizards, bats, birds, all sorts. The stench was disgusting, the amalgamation of a thousand years of decay, and the air was thick and heavy, making him gag.

There was a louder skittering noise further in the chamber, and the sound of many feet moving this way and that. He looked up, holding his wand out before him as his eyes swept the darkness. He moved forward cautiously, his wand at the ready.

Stepping around the larger piles of skeletons was easier than he’d initially thought it would be, and he quickly made it to the first bend in the path, gagging at the clear remains of a Centaur as he turned away. The carcass was old, hundreds of years, perhaps, and horribly disfigured, but it was still recognisable enough. He hurried past it, purposely ignoring how his stomach lurched violently.

He continued through the cavern, staggering to a stop at the sight of the largest snakeskin he’d ever seen. It was huge, reaching up to his chest, and was almost twice as wide as he was tall! His eyes trailed the length, and he grimaced at just how _long_ it was. How the _bloody_ _fuck_ had it managed to move about the school without anybody spotting it?

The ground beneath his boots began to slope steadily downwards, and before he knew it, he came across a set of stairs caves out of the rock. It was a steep incline, and the steps themselves were thin and uneven; more than once, Harry had to pause and hold his arms out, lest he tip over and fall the rest of the way.

He made his way down carefully, and once at the bottom, there was a large metal door with a large Mithril serpent wound delicately around its edge. The serpent rose from the door slowly, its large, ruby eyes staring at him as it leaned closer, an elegant hood flaring behind its head. “ _Who approaches the Chamber of Secrets_?”

Harry cleared his throat roughly. “Harry, of the House of Potter.”

“ _The House of Potter – and a Speaker._ ”

“I wish to enter the _Chamber of Secrets_ – will you let me pass?”

The snake moved left and right, its metal tongue darting out to taste the air, its unblinking gaze never straying from his own. “ _What secret do you seek_?”

“No secret – I enter because I have to.” He replied, his wand trembling in his grip.

“ _You are young to dare enter_.”

“I have no choice.”

“ _There is always a choice_.” The snake hissed, moving a little further from the door. “ _What do you think you will find, beyond the door_?”

“A Basilisk.” He whispered. “Ruhxu.”

“ _Ah, the guardian of the Chamber – long has she slumbered, only to be woken by the unworthy._ ” The snake murmured slowly; its metallic tongue flickered out and tickled his cheek. He hissed as it drew blood and brought his hand to his face. “ _You have the Old Blood – you may enter_.” It said, retreating to the door and slithered around the edge of the metal barrier. There were a number of heavy clunking noises, and finally, it swung open.

Harry entered slowly, walking down the much more well-made steps as sconces of _Magefyre_ lit up the high-vaulted chamber with their flickering blue flames. He gave a startled gasp when the first stone serpent head was brought to life, and for a moment, he thought himself dead. When he managed to suck in a shuddering breath, he watched as others were revealed, all funnelling water through their mouths.

The room was long, vaulted, and eerie – it smelled of damp and mould, and there wasn’t a single dry surface anywhere he could see. The deep, thundering boom of the door closing behind him made him look over his shoulder. He murmured a quiet, “Nox.” And flicked his wand away.

He moved slowly, with careful steps as he looked around the room. He passed pillars as thick as the Whomping Willow, all with intricate, serpentine patterning running up into the darkness above. Ever onwards, his feet moved, moving toward the large statue at the far end of Salazar himself, or, more specifically, his face.

It was half submerged in a pool of murky water, and he grimaced at the way it lapped lazily at the stone tiles. Just before the waters edge, however, was the tiny form of a first year. His pace quickened, and as he got closer, he recognised the damp, red hair of Ginny Weasley, her little black book soaked and left discarded at her side.

He looked around, wincing as two large columns of _Magefyre_ burst into existence on either side of Salazar’s face, lighting up the room. He blinked the harsh dots from his vision as he peered into the darkness around him. There were passages leading in all sorts of directions, all of them feeling as dark and foreboding as the next.

Her skin was pale and cold to the touch and her chest barely rose and fell with each breath she took, her short puffs of breath misted above her face in tiny clouds. “Come on, Ginny, let’s get you out of here.” He murmured, trying to lift her arm, but it was as if she were heavier than even Hagrid. Her arm didn’t so much as budge, even as he felt his face turn red and purple from the effort.

He dropped to the floor beside her, panting from the effort. He groaned, staring up at the dark ceiling until he finally pushed himself back up. He stood slowly, looking around – there was little doubt that Ginny was being held in place magically, if he could stop _that_ , he could start thinking of a way of getting her back up to the school, and he could let the Aurors do their jobs.

At the thought of the Aurors, he also made a mental note to avoid stumbling across the Basilisk.

“She won’t wake.” A soft voice called, and Harry spun to face the newcomer.

There, leaning against a pillar, was a boy of perhaps sixteen, with handsome features and black, wavy coiffed hair in Slytherin robes. He was dressed in the Muggle-born uniform, with a smart vest, shirt, tie, and the Slytherin cloak. On the lapel of his cloak, sat the familiar Prefects badge – he didn’t recognise the boy though.

“Who are you?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. “I assume you brought her down here?”

“My name is Tom Riddle – I’m afraid she brought herself down here.” Riddle answered, inclining his head to the girl between them. Tom moved forward slowly; his hands clasped before him.

“You were the one who turned Hagrid in…” Harry frowned, recognising the name. “I’ve seen your award to the school in the Trophy Room – how are you still so-“

“Young?” Riddle asked, tilting his head to the side as his dark eyes swept over him. “Truth be told, I’m not truly here. I will be, soon, however.”

“Ghosts aren’t real.” Harry said, flicking his wand into his hand and levelling it at Tom. “You’re lying.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m being nothing but honest. I’m merely a memory, preserved in that diary right there, for fifty years.” Riddle smiled, gesturing to the dark book by Ginny’s right hand. “Quite bothersome, I confess – I find it quite… _liberating_ , to be able to move freely once again.” He added, wandering closer as he looked around.

“I guess you’ll find it less liberating when you find yourself eaten by the Basilisk.” Harry muttered, fingering the hilt of his wand as he looked around carefully.

“Oh, you mean Ruhxu – no, she won’t come until she’s called.”

“How do you-“

“I thought we could have a conversation, after all, I’ve waited so very long to meet you.”

“You’re a Parselmouth – it was _you_? Attacking the students?”

Riddle pursed his lips and clasped his hands at the small of his back. Harry’s eyes narrowed. “In a way.” The Slytherin boy said slowly, teasingly. “You’re closer than you think to the truth – but can you work it out?”

Harry glanced down at Ginny, and his eyes darted to the book at her side. “The diary.”

“Oh, you _are_ a smart one, aren’t you? I’m impressed.” Tom grinned handsomely, the _Magefyre_ flickering in his dark, onyx eyes. “I must say, it is refreshing to speak to someone with some intelligence.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Oh, a little bit of this, and little bit of that.” Riddle hummed pleasantly. “Truthfully, I did nothing that Ginny didn’t wish to. She bared her soul to me, and in so doing, we end up here.” He shrugged, glancing around the room once more.

“You’re using her.” Harry scowled.

“Everyone uses _someone_!” Riddle snapped, his face twisting in his sudden flash of anger. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, and the Slytherin Prefect drew himself up with a calming breath before straightening his cloak, flicking a speck of dust from his sleeve. “I listened to her hopes and dreams, and I became her friend. I simply gave her a little _nudge_ here and there.”

“So, what, it was Ginny carrying out all the attacks? You just _nudged_ her into killing Justin, is that it?”

“Oh, that was quite by accident, I assure you – but no,” Tom sighed, turning to face the statue of Salazar. “ _That_ was rather unfortunate, though I understand that you were held responsible in the end?”

“For a time.” Harry replied, keeping his wand trained on Riddle’s back.

“It must have been _terrible_ , having everyone whisper as you walked past, glaring at you from their darkened corners.”

“I managed.”

“Oh, I bet you did. Nothing less than astounding, the way you rely on those friends of yours – a shame about that Muggle-born. Ginny fought fiercely against that one.”

Harry felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck as his magic roared. The blood pumped in his ears, and the stone tile beneath his feet cracked loudly. “That was _you_.” Harry snarled, feeling his muscles tense beneath the armour.

“Oh, yes.” Tom said, looking back at him over his shoulder with a cold smirk. “That was me. I wanted to see what made you tick, and you didn’t disappoint, did you.” Tom continued, turning to face him fully – a wand appearing in his hand.

Harry blinked before sending a flurry of spells toward the boy – unlike in the duels, he didn’t hold back. He released everything he had, barely a heartbeat between them. Each spell, Tom deflected, high up into the ceiling, or off to the side where they crashed into the dark walls with a sickening _whip-crack_ sound that echoed for several seconds. Those he couldn’t deflect, like the _Reium_ spell, he simply conjured a spherical bubble that flashed golden with each impact.

“You won’t be needing that any longer, I think.” Tom sighed, making a slashing motion with his wand – a second later, Harry scrambled for his wand as it was yanked from his grip. “There, now we can continue like civilised wizards.” Riddle said, holding Harry’s wand in his left hand.

Harry scowled at the boy across from him. “You know you won’t get away with this. The Aurors will know where the entrance is by now.”

“Have a Parselmouth on call, do they?” Tom asked, sarcastically. “One with the Old Blood?”

Harry said nothing, instead, he simply ground his teeth together as his hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

“Or,” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him. “Are you going to do something? I must say, I’m almost tempted to let you try – after all, your exploits have made me most anxious to meet you.”

“What interest am I to you?” He growled, his magic tingling up and down his arms.

“Well, it’s funny you should ask.” Tom said slowly, inching closer to the girl on the ground – he nudged her shoulder with the toe of his shoe. “You see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry. Your whole _fascinating_ history – it seems she’s rather the expert on _The-Boy-Who-Lived_.” Riddle grimaced at the moniker that Harry hated, and he watched as Riddle’s eyes darted to his forehead, where the thin scar lay just above his eye.

“I wonder what might have happened if it had been _you_ who came into possession of my diary. Would I have gained your trust so easily – poor, lonely, feared Harry Potter.” Riddle said, an ugly sneer on his face. “I had hoped to get little Ginny here to slip my diary into your room, or your bag, but by that point, she was far too… _attached_.”

“If you hurt her…”

“Oh please.” Tom scoffed. “I have your wand, and as archaic and barbaric as your other weapons are, you wouldn’t get to me quickly enough. Tell me, how was it, hearing of Hagrid’s pet Acromantula? Did it shock you?”

“No more than finding out I was hearing a Basilisk.” Harry said slowly.

“Yes, I imagine after a Basilisk, everything else pales in comparison. I must say, I was rather glad my plan to frame the witless oaf worked as well as it was – though Dumbledore didn’t buy it for a second.”

“Oh, I bet he saw right through you.” Harry chuckled darkly. “You really thought you could get away with it while Dumbledore was around?”

“Oh, but I did, Harry – or are you forgetting my little award? Dippet made me Head Boy the following year, an outstanding example of all the House Traits, I believe he called me. Dumbledore was forced to keep only an annoyingly close eye on me after that, so I closed the _Chamber_ – for a time. I figured it would only be a matter of time until I could continue my work, all in the name of my ancestor; the great Salazar Slytherin _himself_.”

Harry laughed – he didn’t know why, but he did. It started as a low chuckle before devolving into a full fit. He doubled over, clutching his knees as he forced himself to remain standing. When he finally looked up, Tom was scowling at him, his nostrils flaring with each furious breath. “I’m sorry,” He said eventually. “But you’ve got the wrong Salazar – if you’d read the journals I have, you’d know he couldn’t give a _shit_ about blood.” He paused, the last chuckles fading away. “You just wanted to kill.”

“Perhaps.” Tom shrugged, “But killing _Mudbloods_ no longer interests me. My target for the last several months has only been you, Harry, everyone else has just been collateral damage.”

A lead weight settled in the bottom of his stomach. “Well, I’m here – going to finish what Voldemort couldn’t?” He said, raising his chin defiantly. “He’s had two chances now.”

“You know,” Riddle began, tapping his wand to his chin. “It’s funny you mention that name – humour me, if you will.”

“Kiss my arse.” Harry muttered, only for his hands to leap to his throat as Tom appeared before him, his hand wrapped around his neck and lifting him bodily from the floor. The next thing he knew, he was slammed against a nearby pillar, his vision dancing from the impact as the edges of his vision dimmed.

“ _Humour me_.” Tom hissed in his ear, levelling the tip of his wand to Harry’s neck as he lowered him to the floor. Riddle pressed his larger body against his own, and he _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to shimmy his dagger loose from his back.

“ _Fuck you_.” Harry wheezed, gulping in what air he could as he swung with his fist. He connected with nothing, only for the wand at his throat to light his body on fire. He screamed, hoarsely as magic flowed through him. His arms and legs thrashed, but he couldn’t move from where Tom held him. After what felt like an eternity, the pain disappeared, and he sagged against the larger boy. He groaned, and he could smell burning ozone – his vision cleared just enough for him to make out the faintest wisps of smoke trailing from his hands.

“How is it you survived, a mere _baby_ , while the greatest wizard of all time was defeated? Left with nothing more than a scar, while Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?” Riddle shouted in Harry’s ear.

Harry winced at the noise as his head throbbed, and Harry glanced up into Tom’s eyes, which were glowing an eerie red around his pupils. “Why do you care?” Harry wheezed, dropping to his knees as Riddle released him. He massaged his throat while he coughed into the large, damp tiles. “He was after you, you prick.”

“Voldemort,” Riddle said softly, kneeling down to whisper in Harry’s ear in a voice cold enough to chill his very bones. “Is my past, present, and future…”

Harry glanced up, watching in dread as the words formed in the air as Tom used his wand to write out his name.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

He watched as Riddle slashed his wand through the air, and the letters rearranged themselves.

_I Am Lord Voldemort_

There, hovering in the air, burning angrily as Harry remained on his knees, stunned – he looked over at the smirking boy. “Impossible.” He murmured, quietly.

“Oh, I assure you, young Harry – it’s _quite_ possible. Did you really think I’d use my _filthy_ Muggle father’s name? A man who abandoned me before I was born, all because my mother was a witch? No – I fashioned myself a new name; one I knew all wizards would one day fear.” Riddle – _Voldemort_ – hissed, gripping Harry’s jaw tightly.

“Not everyone is afraid of you.” He spat, wrenching his jaw free of Riddle’s grip. “You’ll just be another footnote in history.” He said, pushing himself to his feet as Tom began to walk away, back to where Ginny lay.

“I think you’re confusing the two of us, Harry Potter – for you see, only one of us will be leaving this room alive.”

“Kill me then, you _fucking_ coward!” Harry snapped. “Be a man and get it over with!”

“Oh, I think not – after all, what greater irony is there, than watching a Parselmouth be killed – by a _snake_?” Riddle laughed coldly, glancing over his shoulder, the sickeningly crimson eyes glowing in dim light of the cavernous room. Tom turned to stare at the large statue of Salazar’s face and began to hiss loudly. “ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_!”

Dread pooled in his stomach as the mouth of the statue ground open, and something stirred within the dark recesses. Harry slammed his eyes shut, his breath coming in quick, panicked gasps as he heard the gargantuan snake begin to slither forward. He reached out with his magic, feeling the world around him, and slowly, the room began to take shape behind his eyelids.

He could feel the water running from the large, gaping maws of the snakes that lined the room, the stone tiles beneath his feet, and the gentle lapping of the water between Ginny and the Basilisk in the pool between them. He could _feel_ the sickening void where Tom was standing, and the _agony_ of the Basilisk.

“ _Ruhxu called. Ruhxu sleep. Ruhxu awakened.”_ Ruhxu screamed, madly.

“Ruhxu, don’t listen to him! Fight him!” Harry bellowed across the _Chamber_ , and he felt the eyes of the Basilisk on him, even if he couldn’t see them – thank _Merlin_.

“ _Speaker_.”

“You will kill this boy, I command it!” Riddle yelled, and a lance of magic lashed out from Tom and burrowed deeply into the King of Serpents, or Queen, in this case.

“ _R-Ruhxu, refuses_!” The Basilisk howled, and Harry could feel the tremors beneath his boots as she thrashed around violently – a pillar was smashed to pieces, and the room trembled so much that for a moment, Harry thought he might topple over.

“I _command_ it!” Tom shouted again, another lance of magic piercing through the Basilisk’s mind, and as Harry watched, numbly, behind his eyelids, his heart began to hammer in his chest when the giant serpent suddenly stilled. No longer was there a voice, replaced instead, by a deep, menacing growl that did more to strike fear into him than anything ever before.

 _Nothing_ compared to that sound.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Harry swore, spinning on his heel and sprinting to where he could feel the door to the _Chamber_. He sprinted down the room, his arms and legs pumping as hard as they could, the slow scraping noise of Ruhxu’s large, sinuous body inching forward, taunting him, echoed throughout the chamber.

He took the steps two, three at a time as he ran up them, slamming his elbow into the door once, twice, three times in his panic. It didn’t move a centimetre, and with his last try, he bounced off so much that he found himself rolling down the steps, his arms and legs aching as he pushed himself to his feet.

Harry got to his feet slowly, shaking his head as he kept his eyes closed. His magic whispered in the back of his mind and danced along his skin. He looked up, and he could see Ruhxu in his mind’s eye, watching him as a predator watches its prey. She was huge, much larger than he, a mere boy of twelve.

With a grimace, he pulled his blade from its scabbard and held at his side in a two-handed grip, his feet spreading themselves apart as his breathing evened out. He nodded to himself tiredly – his body aching from the tumble down the stairs.

Ruhxu remained completely still, but Harry could sense the tension in her coiled muscles. All of that energy, all of that _power_ , just waiting to lash out at him in one singular, devastating attack.

His right foot shifted, and a second later, his magic _screamed_ for him to move. Without hesitation, he spun to the side, feeling his gambeson flair out around his knees with the movement, and brought his sword down in one mighty cut.

There was nothing for a moment, and then the tell-tale slice of flesh and the resistance against his swing told him he’d made his mark. Ruhxu screamed – it was no longer coherent and felt like a million shards of glass were being raked across the inside of his skull.

He staggered away as she thrashed, taking out another column as she did – somehow, and he didn’t quite know how, he knew he’d blinded an eye.

Glancing down at his sword, he grimaced at the inky blackness that was spreading itself over the blade – it would be useless now. He tossed the blade down and quickly unbuckled his belt, sliding it from around his waist as he pulled the Sword of Gryffindor free from its scabbard.

The blade rang beautifully against Ruhxu’s screams and cries of agony. He dropped the scabbard, and the belt, to the floor, spinning out of the way of her thrashing tail. He swung the blade at her hard scales, grinning as it cut the hard flesh easily, with none of the corruption that his own blade reeked of.

Ruhxu stopped her thrashing after that, and he felt her lone, furious eye staring at him. He looked back, making sure to only use his magic to see the world around him – he would not fall to her gaze. If this was how he would meet the Gods, he would do so with a weapon in his hand and make her _earn_ it.

There was a moment of stillness – something unspoken passing between him and the beast before him. Regardless if she killed him, he had marked her for life, and in a strange way, he felt that respect pass between them. His jaw twitched, and he breathed in shakily. He was cornered, trapped between a pillar and one of the pools of water that lined the room.

Just as he felt her rear back, a deadly, incoherent hiss whispering past Ruhxu’s lips, there was a tremendous burst of magic above him. He risked a glance upward, and if he hadn’t already had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he was sure he would have been blinded by the inferno.

He heard her before he saw her, her song making his heart feel twice its size. His aches and pains washed away, and he felt strength fill his muscles. He grinned as she burst from the inferno, her powerful wings beating powerfully as she threw herself at Ruhxu’s remaining eye, tearing at it with her hooked beak and sharp talons.

Ruhxu screamed and thrashed once more as Clara kept up her assault. He could make out nothing more than impressions of the world around him, but he could see enough to spot the gore that followed Clara’s attack – blood and ichor spewing from the wound and coating the pillar next to the Basilisk’s large, arrow shaped head.

He risked opening his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the bloody wrecks of Ruhxu’s once deadly eyes. Bloody gushed from the wounds, trailing down the sides of her face in thick, cascading rivers. Her left eye was sliced cleanly in half, and her right had been reduced to nothing more than an empty socket.

Grinning, he looked to Clara, her crimson feathers a welcome sight, while her golden tailfeathers blazed powerfully, alive with flame so hot, it was blue around the edges. He could feel the Phoenix in the back of his mind, her indignation and righteous _fury_ at the Basilisk having _dared_ to attack him. He tried to show her just how much he loved and appreciated her coming to his rescue.

He glanced at Riddle, who had remained where he had summoned Ruhxu from, an ugly scowl on his face as he glared at him. “You’re next, Tom!” He called, levelling his blade at the boy.

Riddle laughed coldly. “We’ll see.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder at Ruhxu, just as Clara was shaken loose. The Basilisk launched itself in the Phoenixes direction, her powerful jaws slamming shut just behind the magical bird as Clara banked and weaved among the pillars, the flickering _Magefyre_ of the chamber lighting up her belly.

He flexed his fingers around the hilt of the blade and licked his lips, his eyes taking in Ruhxu’s large form. Her body was so wide, and simply so _huge_ that he was outmatched on that alone. His best chance would be attacking her head, but she kept it so high off the ground, he had no realistic way of reaching it.

Something slammed into him from behind, throwing him down the room, bouncing along the stone tiles until he crashed painfully into the base of a pillar. He groaned, scrambling to his feet as he tried to shake the dizziness away. The sword, which he’d remarkably been able to keep a hold of, scraped and clanged against the stone.

With his vision mostly clear, he spotted the whipping and thrashing of Ruhxu’s tail – that must have been what struck him! He nodded to himself as he watched Clara dive-bomb Ruhxu’s head, leaving deep gashes and ugly, bubbling, boiled skin in her wake.

Harry sprinted forward, sword held in his left hand as magic filled his arms and legs and _leapt_. He soared through the air, higher than otherwise would have been possible. His legs continued pumping, and his arms swung wildly.

He collided painfully with the scales on Ruhxu’s body, and for a terrifying moment, the Basilisk went completely still before she twisted to stare down at him, her forked tongue darting out just before her maw opened just enough to reveal the sickening, onyx fangs covered in venom.

With wide eyes, he watched Ruhxu inch ever closer, and he finally took a chance, swinging the Sword of Gryffindor at her snout. The blade hacked off a chunk of flesh, and Ruhxu jerked her head back. Harry leapt once again, further along her body, only this time, he managed to grip one of the many spines along her body, and sunk the blade into her back, down to the hilt.

The Basilisk screamed once again, thrashing, and rolling from side to side. Harry yanked the blade free and was forced to leap from the snake as the ground rushed up to meet him. He cleared the snake just in time, rolling along the stone floor painfully as Ruhxu thrashed.

Clara cawed shrilly and dived at the snake, ghosting along her length, just high enough for her long tailfeathers to drag along the serpent’s entire body. His jaw clenched, and he gripped his head with his free hand as the beast screamed in agony.

Harry scrambled forward, leaping at the snake with the sword raised above his head as he brought it down powerfully on her side. The blade sank deeply, and blood pulsed from the wound. He didn’t wait before bringing his blade down again, and again, all over her body – he needed to wear her down, make her too tired to continue to fight.

Ruhxu thrashed and flailed her body this way and that, slamming her body against the floor, and the many pillars that remained standing. Clara would alternate between burning the serpent and ripping and tearing at the flesh with her beak and claws.

This continued for minutes – or perhaps it was hours. By the time he stumbled backwards, the Sword of Gryffindor coated in the thick blood of the Basilisk, his arms felt like lead and his chest heaved painfully.

Ruhxu, despite her many wounds, rose dangerously and opened her maw as she glared down at him. Her body tensed, before darting forward. Just as she was about to strike him, Clara appeared, sinking her claws into the Basilisk’s destroyed snout, and lifting it with powerful beats of her wings.

It was only a second, but it was all he needed. With what little strength remained, he thrust the blade into the roof of Ruhxu’s mouth. He could feel bone, muscle, and everything else in between give way beneath the deadly tip of the blade, until it punched free out the top of her skull.

Amongst Ruhxu’s screams were his own. In her thrashing to be free herself from Clara, the Basilisk had jerked her head to the side, and a fang had punched all the way through his forearm – breaking off against the bones in his forearm.

Harry stumbled backwards as Clara released the fresh corpse, the forked tongue of the Basilisk hanging limply out the side of her mouth as she breathed her last. Harry stumbled backward, falling to the floor limply as he felt the venom burn its way through his body.

He’d read a little about Basilisk’s over the last months – there was precious little on the creatures outside of Newt Scamander’s _Fantastic Beasts_. One thing was certain though; Basilisk venom was deadly and acted quickly. Unlike regular snakes, who used their venom to hunt – Basilisk’s used it to help digest their food. The warped remains of the Centaur flickered before his eyes.

His body felt like it was on fire – it was a pain he had never felt before and wouldn’t wish on anyone. He clamped his jaw tight and scrambled over to where Ginny lay – if it was possible, she was even paler than before, colder even as he ghosted the back of his knuckles against her hand. He propped his head against her thigh, panting as his eyes rolled into the back of his head momentarily.

He felt hot and cold all at the same time, and the slightest movement caused agony to shoot throughout his body. His breathing was weak, ragged. Tom appeared before him, smirking down at him. “It seems I underestimated you – no matter, Basilisk venom works quickly. Soon, Harry Potter will be nothing more than a memory.”

Harry sucked in a shuddering breath as he felt a wand pressed to his chin, tilting his head up slightly. A pair of crimson eyes stared down at him through the encroaching darkness. His entire body trembled as he licked his lips.

So, this is how it felt to die.

He wanted to weep, to thrash against the injustice of it all – what would Sirius think, or Remus? What would Neville do in his absence – or Daphne and Tracey? He knew coming down here meant he was possibly walking to his death, but he had no choice – someone had been in danger, and if he hadn’t acted, there was no telling what would have happened.

And yet, he had still failed.

He coughed, and he felt something bubble from his lips and run down the side of his face. Tom smirked down at him. “And so, it ends – the last line of House Potter, fading into the annals of history. Here lies _The-Boy-Who-Died_ , bested by the greatest Sorcerer of all time.”

His magic curled around him comfortingly, like a blanket. He felt warm, safe. It whispered in his mind, on the edge of hearing as his arm dropped to the stone beneath his body like a lead weight. He no longer felt that same pain from before; now, he simply wanted to rest – to close his eyes for five minutes.

His eyes fell on the Basilisk fang in his arm, and the book that lay off to the side. He grinned to himself as the blood continued to leak from his lips – one last hurrah before the end.

With what little strength he had left, he reached over and gripped the fang, and ripped it from his arm – his doublet was soaked with his blood, and shockingly, he felt no pain. He reached out a hand, and summoned the black book to him, slamming the tip of the fang into its leather cover with all that remained of his strength. The panicked yell of Tom reached his ears, as if through water, and he laughed to himself.

An impossible light burst from Tom’s chest, and Harry continued stabbing. Something trickled around his fingers – it was thick, viscous, and sticky, but still, he held onto the fang tightly. More shafts of light burst from Riddle, and the boy screamed into the darkness as his handsome features bubbled and boiled. With one last brilliant crescendo of light, Tom Riddle burst into nothing more than flecks of light, gently wafting to the floor.

He slumped back against Ginny’s thigh as he coughed, the world spinning for a moment as Clara swept down to land next to him, her soft trills making him smile as she nudged his cheek with her beak. He tried to say something – _anything_ – but he was so exhausted. He blinked sadly at her as tears ran down his cheeks.

Ginny stirred behind him, and she shifted behind him as she sat up, causing a pitiful moan to whisper past his lips. “W-where, oh!” She gasped, no doubt seeing the Basilisk corpse. A moment later, he felt her hands on his forehead, sweeping back the hair that had come loose from the knot at the back of his head. “Harry?”

He nodded, regretting the action almost immediately as tears began to form in Clara’s dark eyes. His eyes widened as he watched the Phoenix bend to cry into his wound. He thrashed painfully as the salty tears dripped into the open wound, but the bird – ever loyal and caring – held his arm firmly in place with her talons.

The feeling of his skin, muscle, and bone knitting itself back together was wholly unpleasant. He whimpered in his agony, and barely held himself from biting through his tongue. Ginny held him in place, quickly shifting to her knees and holding either side of his head in her grip. The flames of Clara’s tail flickered and died, leaving behind nothing but golden feathers, and she sagged against him as the agony subsided.

He groaned as he sat up, leaning to the side, and hacking up a mouthful of blood and saliva that he spat unceremoniously on the stone tiles. He blinked as his vision cleared before scrambling out of Ginny’s grip and scooping the barely breathing Clara into his arms. He rocked her back and forth as she blinked tiredly up at him, his thumb gently stroking the soft feathers around her face. “You stupid, _stupid_ bird – thank you.” He croaked, pressing a kiss to the crown of feathers on top of her head.

He glanced at Ginny, watching as she paled under his gaze. “I’m s-sorry.” She murmured, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I-I couldn’t stop him.”

“He’s gone.” He breathed, staring at the book that sat in a small puddle of thick, black ink. “He’s gone.” He sighed, closing his eyes as he hugged Clara close to him – he leaned back and found a pillar behind him.

“I’ll be expelled.” Ginny sniffed – she was closer now, next to him. How long had he been sat there, Clara curled up against his chest with his eyes closed?

“I suspect you’ll be fine.” He murmured quietly, opening his eyes slowly. “Here, can you hold Clara for a moment? There’s some things I need to get.” He offered his arms to Ginny, who nodded quickly and scooped the Phoenix into her arms, her face pale as she gently stroked the feathers along her neck. He could sense Clara’s discontent at being handled by the witch, but he needed to move.

He stumbled his way to Ruhxu first – blood had pooled around her body, leaking from her wounds. Her wrecked eyes stared back at him as he approached. He managed to lift her mouth open just enough to wrench the Sword of Gryffindor free before wiping the blade on what remained of her snout.

He wandered the room, eventually finding his discarded sword and belt. He placed Gryffindor’s sword on the ground for a moment as he fastened his sword belt around his waist and sheathed the legendary blade only moments later. His own sword was wrecked – the pristine steel was dark, stained with corruption spider webbing all along the blade from where the gore of Ruhxu’s eye had marked it. He would need a new one. He sheathed that sword too.

When he returned to Ginny and Clara, he spotted his wand for the first time, laying on the wet slabs, forgotten. He summoned it to his hand and quickly flicked it into its holster. He figured that Ginny had found her own wand _somewhere_ if the one clutched in a white-knuckled grip by the girl was anything to judge by.

The last two things he needed were both next to one another. The fang and the diary – he picked both up delicately, before wrapping the fang in the pages of the book. It would do little good to catch himself on the sharp tooth, only to poison himself again. Clara wouldn’t be able to heal him again – in fact, he had never seen her so exhausted.

With everything gathered, he returned to the sniffling first year girl and scooped Clara out of her arms. “You looked after me, now it’s my turn to look after you.” He murmured to the Phoenix, who burrowed into his chest tiredly. He smiled down at her and shifted his grip a little as the youngest Weasley got to her feet.

“Come on.” He said, looking at her. “We need to find a way out of here.”

She nodded silently and shuffled after him, her eyes drooping to the stone tiles as she chewed on her bottom lip.

He checked the door first, kicking it with the toe of his boot – the dull thud echoing throughout the room loudly. He hissed a curse and made to turn around – perhaps there would be a secondary exit, something Ruhxu used to move throughout the castle grounds, for there was no possible way she could have emerged from the Trophy Room.

Halfway down the steps, the dull thuds and clangs of the door opening behind him made him pause. He turned on his heel slowly, watching as the Mithril serpent appeared, its red eyes staring at him as its forked tongue darted out. “ _The Chamber is yours_.” It decreed, and Harry felt a shiver run up his spine.

He wanted nothing to do with the damned thing ever again.

Slowly, Harry led the two of them out of the _Chamber_. His boots felt like they were filled with lead, but each step he took got him closer to the surface. On and on he plodded, Ginny at his heel the entire way as he led the two of them along the sloping path, ignoring the sound of the Weasley girl vomiting at the sight of the Centaur remains.

The two of them continued on, the crunching of ancient animal skeletons the only accompaniment to their journey. Perhaps he was simply used to the darkness, after having been stuck in the _Chamber_ for who knew how long, but the passage to the spiral stairs seemed brighter, less foreboding and oppressive; moonlight still filtered through the large gaps in the rock.

They made their way up the tight spiral staircase, the familiar lichen pulsing with each step they took. Ginny only stumbled and slipped twice, catching herself before tumbling down into the cavern below with a frustrated huff and wet sniff.

His legs burned as they made it to the top, and the statue lowered itself without Harry having to do or say anything. He tried not to scowl at the masonry from its spot in the floor – why it couldn’t have done that earlier, he didn’t know, nor did he truly care in that moment. All he wanted was a bed.

The Trophy Room was empty, with not a soul to be found along the large corridor. They trudged their way along it, a small growl of frustration whispering past his lips as the familiar sensation began to tickle the back of his mind as he passed Rowena’s statue.

He held Clara close as he stumbled down the stairs to the ground floor, leaning on the bannisters as he did. His eyes were heavy, and every step took more strength than he had left. Ginny helped, now that they could walk side-by-side, holding him up by his arm as his limbs trembled.

In the brighter light of the castle itself, he could see that he was absolutely _covered_ in filth; caked in it, even. He didn’t even want to think about how he smelled. Clara trilled softly into his chest and he grinned down at her as they stumbled from the last step.

There were people in the portraits now, whispering and pointing to the three of them as they slowly hobbled to the Great Hall – the closer he got, the more his right leg burned, and a noticeable limp soon had him slowing down to a crawling pace.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, they arrived before the heavy doors of the Great Hall – they were shut, but they could clearly hear the noise coming from within. Ginny darted from his side, and he stumbled for a moment, not quite realising just how much she was holding him up. She heaved the door open with her shoulder, and the voices fell silent.

The Hall was lit with a thousand or more candles, all floating steadily in the air. The staff were gathered around the High Table, while the students filled the room, the benches and tables having been pushed to the sides. Aisles of blankets and pillows littered the floor, and a collective gasp echoed throughout the room.

He raised his chin and hobbled forward as the staff pushed their way past the slowly forming crowd that appeared before him out of thin air. For the first time, he noticed Amelia at McGonagall’s side – Daphne, Tracey, and Neville pushing their way to the front of the gathering of students.

“Mister Potter!” McGonagall cried; her eyes furious. “Do you have _any_ idea the kind of trouble you’re in?”

“Nothing worse than I’ve just gone through – the beast is dead.” He answered her, glancing at his friends. “The Basilisk is dead, and Ginny is safe. The _Chamber of Secrets_ is secure.”

“A _Basilisk_?” Someone hissed from the crowd.

“No way Potter took on a Basilisk!”

“He _looks_ like he did!”

“He’s got two swords!”

“ _Merlin_ , is that his _Phoenix_ in his arms?”

“Clara? Let me see!”

“Silence!” Snape bellowed as the volume in the room began to rise. Amelia swept forward, cupping his face, and checking him over with her eyes. He smiled up at her tiredly.

“Where’s Sirius?” He asked, quietly.

“Looking for another entrance to the _Chamber_ – somewhere the Basilisk might have entered and left from. He has a team of my best Aurors with him. He’ll be glad to know you’re safe, Harry.” Amelia said, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “You had us so worried.”

“It was a near thing, if not for Clara. She’s exhausted.” He muttered, leaning into the woman.

“Potter – you will show us to the entrance of the _Chamber_ so that we can ascertain the true fate of this creature, and make sure it is disposed of properly.” Snape’s voice commanded from behind Amelia. Harry leaned around the woman and glared at him.

“If you think I’m going anywhere but to a bed for the next week, you’re mistaken, _Professor_.” He snapped. “Is Madame Pomfrey here?”

“Right here, Mister Potter.” The Healer huffed, shoving her way towards him. She knelt down before him and swept her eyes over both himself _and_ Clara. “I don’t know much about creatures, young man, but I’ll do my best to see to you both, hm?”

Harry just nodded and tossed the diary to the floor, the large Basilisk fang tumbling from its pages where a number of people scrambled away from it. “There’s your proof, by the way. One Basilisk fang, pulled straight out of my arm.” He grunted, holding up his bloody sleeve as proof. “There’s a reason Clara’s so wiped out.”

“Harry…” Daphne murmured softly, stepping up to him with a hand over her mouth. He grimaced in her direction.

“I know.” He said, tiredly.

“Come on, let’s get you to that bed.” Neville suggested, wrapping an arm around his waist as he turned him around slowly.

“Look at Potter acting the hero again – it’s enough to make you sick.” A familiar voice scoffed, and Harry found his earlier anger return. He shrugged out of Neville’s grip and pulled his sword from its scabbard; in the warm, flickering light of the Hall, the corrupted metal looked somehow even _worse_ than it had in the _Chamber_.

All around him, wands were levelled at him. He planted the tip of the blade against the stone before stamping on the flat of it, shattering the weapon. He tossed the useless remains at the feet of those around him. “Keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about, _Malfoy_.” He hissed, storming from the Hall.

He was halfway down the corridor when the hurried footsteps finally caught up to him. Neville darted around in front of him, quickly scooping Clara from his arms, while both Tracey and Daphne ducked their heads under his arms.

A pathetic noise of protest sounded from the back of his throat, only for his body to sag against the newfound support.

“We’ve got you Harry.” Tracey whispered, as his eyelids grew heavy.

“We’re the Vargarnir – we’re a pack. We stick together.” Daphne said softly, and despite all of the horrors of the last few hours, and all of the pain he’d endured; Harry let his body succumb to exhaustion with a smile.


	36. Harry XXIV

He was dancing under the stars, spinning around on the dancefloor, and laughing all the while without a care in the world.

The instruments strummed a merry tune, and all around him were faces he knew – there was Arcturus and Melania, Andromeda and Ted, Sirius and Amelia, Daphne and Neville, Hermione and Tracey – he was surrounded by those he loved most of all, and he couldn’t be happier for it.

Just beneath the highest point of the large, canvas tent, Clara glided around in lazy loops, her long, flaming tailfeathers leaving the most beautiful pattern behind her in the cool air, while the sconces of _Magefyre_ flickered merrily to the tune of the music.

He looked back to his dancing partner and grinned up at his mother. She had the light dusting of freckles over her nose that he had memorised, and her emerald eyes danced in the low light. She held his left hand gently, and her right was perched carefully on his shoulder as she laughed.

It was a rich sound, something that set him immediately at ease and washed away his fears and anxiety as they spun to the music. Her dress, a rich crimson dress that matched the colour of her hair flowed this way and that with each turn.

A sense of peace, of true _belonging_ , drifted over him, almost like a thick blanket. It was everything he could have wished for – here, in his mother’s arms, there were no dark wizards, no Basilisk, no Mountain Trolls, and no harsh whispers and angry stares. He was where he belonged.

The music came to a stop, and the two of them wandered from the dancefloor with their arms entwined – they didn’t meander over to his father, who, when he glanced in his direction, was having the time of his life with Remus, the two men laughing and joking about something or another.

“Let’s take a walk.” Lily suggested, gently pulling him in the direction of Blackwall’s large flower garden. “I want you to tell me all about school.”

“But I’ve already told you everything.” Harry replied, frowning. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, and his hair danced about his face as he turned to look at the woman that had given birth to him. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Lily hummed as her lips twisted into a playful smirk as she peered down at him. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that. I’m sure there’s all sorts you haven’t told me yet.”

“There isn’t much.” He shrugged as they began walking the path between the rose bushes. Even in the moonlight, he could clearly see the beautiful petals in all their resplendent colour, almost glowing in their own way. There were the reds of all shades, and the pinks, which he knew were Lipsy’s favourite, but there were also the white ones – the ones he had always thought were the prettiest of the lot.

He stopped by a bush, gently retracting his arm from his mother as he knelt and picked two stems from the bush, cutting the stalks with his wand just how Neville had shown him. The first he handed to Lily, who grinned down at him with that smile of hers that always made her nose crinkle just the tiniest bit, and the second he kept in his hand, pinching it delicately between his fingers so as to avoid the thorns.

“Which of the House Elves is it that I’ll have to thank for such a beautiful gift from my son?” Lily asked, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they resumed their walk.

“Goldy.” Harry snorted, thinking of the kindly Elf. “The Elfroot is his pride and joy – I think he might even start letting Neville help him out when he visits.”

“He’s getting to be quite the little gardener, isn’t he?”

“Who, Neville?”

Lily nodded, and Harry couldn’t help but snicker. Harry loved Neville – dearly – but if there was one word he wouldn’t use to describe the Longbottom heir, it was _little_. “It’s so nice to hear he’s doing something he loves.” Lily smiled, squeezing him into her side for a moment.

“Pretty sure he’s Professor Sprout’s favourite student – I couldn’t re-pot anything to save my life.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re doing just fine.” Lily chuckled. She leaned down and added, “I was never much good at _Herbology_ either.” She whispered, and the two of them grinned at one another.

“I’ve missed you, Mum.” He sighed eventually, leaning into her. The two of them came to a stop and sat on a nearby stone bench – one of many that dotted the gardens.

“I’ve missed you too, love.” She smiled sadly, threading her fingers through his hair as she pushed it back from his face. He glanced up at her and watched her studying his face – her eyes darted from his jaw, to his lips, to his nose, and up to the faint scar that marked his forehead. “You look _just_ like he did, at your age.”

“Dad?”

She nodded as her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. “I’m so, _so_ very proud of you, Harry.” She murmured, quickly pulling him into a powerful embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the squeeze for all he was worth. “So very proud.” She whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss to it a moment later. He felt her breathe in deeply as her fingers threaded the hair on the back of his head.

Her nails scratched pleasantly along his scalp, and he found the tension leaving his muscles as he sagged against her. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he’d began sobbing against her shoulder – she made soft noises into his hair as she rocked the two of them back and forth on the bench.

Eventually, he sniffed and pulled away, wiping away his tears with the heels of his hands as he cleared his throat. He toed the gravel as he stared at it quietly. Above them, there were the gentle flaps of wings in the air as bats and other nocturnal animals fluttered about their lives. Lily idly wrapped locks of his hair around her fingers at the nape of his neck – she didn’t pressure him to say anything, instead, simply content to let him take his time.

He cleared his throat and leaned into his mother, her arm squeezing his shoulder. “It’s been hard.” He admitted after a moment of silence. His breath left him shakily, and for a moment, he thought he was going to be reduced to tears once again. “Ever since the end of last year, I’ve just been so _tired_.”

“You’ve gone through more than anyone could have expected of you, Harry.” She whispered to him softly. He breathed deeply, and for the briefest of moments, all he could smell was his mother’s sweet shampoo and floral perfume as she placed her chin atop his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologising? You’ve not done anything wrong.” He murmured quietly between sniffs.

“I haven’t been there, though, have I?” She sighed, leaning back to look at him. He glanced at her through his eyelashes, and his heart lurched painfully at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” She whispered, her bottom lip trembling violently. “Look at you – you’re all grown up.”

“Not quite.” Harry shrugged. “I’m only twelve – nearly thirteen.”

“You’re far more mature and responsible than either of your parents at your age. The things you’ve suffered – no child should go through that.”

Harry shrugged and looked back at the ground. “It’s fine.” He muttered quietly. Behind him, within the thorned, tangled masses of the rose bushes, crickets chirped softly into the night – little glow bugs danced in the air above him.

“It’s not fine, Harry.” Lily sighed, smiling softly when he turned to look at her. “If you only had your father and I; if only we hadn’t-“

“Died?” He asked quietly, pressing his lips tightly together. “You gave your _lives_ for me.”

His mother sat there, her eyes sparkling in the low light of the night, and her free hand dabbed at her wet cheeks as she laughed humourlessly. “ _You_ are the most important thing to your father and I, Harry.” She said, cupping his face with her hands. He nodded mutely, his throat tightening uncomfortably. “We gave our lives for you, so that you could have a happy and free life – do you understand me?”

“I-“

“You were raised in the best way possible by Sirius, Remus, and Arcturus, and they all love you dearly, but you aren’t _free_.” Lily said sadly, tracing the pads of her thumbs over his cheekbones softly. “You have more on your shoulders than you even know – let _go_ , Harry. Be a _child_.”

“But the family-“ He began, looking back towards the faint glow of the tent in the distance.

“It’ll still be there when you come of age. If I could, I’d scoop you up and run away with you – just you, me, and your father.”

“That sounds nice.” Harry smiled sadly, sniffing as his feet swung back and forth idly. “I think I’d like that.”

“So would we.” Lily smiled, taking his hands in her own. He watched as her thumbs tracked back and forth along his wrist. “Where would you like to go?” She whispered, nudging his shoulder with her own.

He pursed his lips as he smiled. “I’ve always wanted to visit America – see the famous cities there, visit Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, you know.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

“Rome.” His mother smiled, staring off into the distance. “Your father and I went there for our honeymoon.”

“Then we’ll go there.” Harry nodded firmly, squeezing her hands. “How long will we be staying?”

“Oh, I’m not sure – how about for as long as we like, hm?” She asked, scrunching her nose at him as she pulled him close to her. “During the day, we’ll wander around. Take in the sights, visit the magical districts; in the evenings, we’ll spend time together wherever we stay and eat pizza.”

“Pizza?” He asked, frowning. “What’s that?”

“What’s _pizza_?” Lily gasped, holding her hand to her chest before gently tugging on one of the strands of hair that framed his face. “Only the greatest thing to come out of Italy – it’s a special, thin dough base, with tomato and cheese on top, and you can put whatever you’d like on top of it. Your Dad always liked pepperoni best.”

“It sounds nice.” He hummed, trying to picture it in his head. “Where’s your favourite place?”

“The Colosseum.” She answered him. “So much history – we’ve lost more than we’ve ever learned, I think. So much to learn about where we came from and the people who came before us.”

“I’ve been reading about all the Potters that came before _me_.” He said slowly, looking up at her. “There’s a lot.”

“I imagine there is.” His mother chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling and her eyes dancing in the moonlight. He wanted to memorise the sound, and every last little detail he could see – it was everything he could have wanted, sitting there, listening to her laugh. “Don’t forget to decide who _you_ want to be, Harry.”

“I’m me.” He frowned, confused. She smiled softly at him and patted his knee.

“You most certainly are and let nobody tell you otherwise.” She said. “All I ask, is that you pull your nose out of a book about long-dead men and women every now and then and look at the world around you.”

“I do look at the world around me.” He answered, slowly. “I’m confused.”

“You’ll understand, in time.” Lily chuckled, slowly getting to her feet, and holding her hand out to him. He took it without hesitating, and quickly fell into step alongside her. “Now,” She began, arching an eyebrow at him and levelling him with a look. “Why don’t you tell me about all of this business with a Basilisk.”

He winced and found his shoulders creeping up involuntarily. “Who told you about that?” He asked sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I have my ways, young man.” She answered him with a huff. “Why did you run off into that chamber?”

“Someone was in trouble, and I needed to do _something_.” He muttered, kicking a small stone with the toe of his boot. “I couldn’t just let someone stay down there – not to mention Hermione-“

“Ah yes, that delightful young girl.” Lily grinned down at him. “I think I’ve grown quite fond of her.”

“I think you’d like her.” He shrugged. “Muggle-born, like you. Smartest person I know.” He added with a smile.

“And sensible – something you need to try to emulate, I think.” Lily sniffed, looking back along the path, her rose held daintily in her hand as she breathed it in. “Honestly, fighting a Basilisk, of all things.” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to fight her.” He winced. “I know what I said, after Hermione got, well, you know.”

Lily nodded slowly.

“I _wanted_ to – to start with, but really… it wasn’t her fault. Besides, I’m only, well, me.” He shrugged his shoulders as their joined hands swung back and forth slowly between them. “I’d have been dead if not for Clara – and Tom’s ego.”

“Let that be a lesson to you then, Harry.” His mother said gently, squeezing his hand for a moment. “Even if you think you can help – sometimes it’s best to let the adults handle it.”

“But Ginny would-“

“Possibly. But, to me, and to your father, you are far more important.” Lily said, and the declaration made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. “That isn’t to say we wouldn’t care if something happened to someone else, but as your parents, we care about your well-being far more – do you understand me?”

He nodded and swallowed thickly. “I think so.”

“Good – ah, it seems we’re right where we need to be.” She sighed sadly, and Harry frowned as he looked at her. He saw nothing – only the long path they were still walking from the house; he recognised it, even. They were only a two-minute walk from the Whomping Willow that Goldy had planted for Arcturus’s father, and that wasn’t at all far from where they had first played with Daphne.

“What do you mean?”

His mother said nothing, choosing instead to turn to face him slowly – her eyes were leaking tears again, and she was furiously chewing on the inside of her cheek. She pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around his shoulders fiercely as she sobbed into his hair, peppering his head with kisses.

He was confused but held on for dear life. Her dress balled in his fists on her back, and her long hair tickled at his nose. She leaned back, and Harry blinked up at her, their green eyes locking in the darkness of the night as she smiled sadly at him. She cupped his face again, her thumbs tracing over his cheekbones, and raked her eyes over it – Harry watched as her brow furrowed and her lips moved silently, as if she were committing something to memory. She looked a little how he imagined _he_ did when he was studying for his exams or writing an essay.

“Mum?” He asked at last, his voice not at all as steady as he’d have liked. She pulled him sharply forward and pressed a long kiss to his forehead, right where he knew his scar lay.

“You be brave, and you be _fierce_ , Harry – do you understand me?” She said looking at him with a fierceness he had never seen before. He nodded mutely, his hair bouncing around his face. “You are my little boy, and you are _so_ loved.” She sniffed; her voice muffled by his hair. Her voice became more and more of a whisper, carried away on the wind no matter how desperately he tried to hold onto it. “Momma loves you – Dada loves you. Harry, be safe, be strong.”

“No,” He muttered, feeling the world disappear around him. “No, don’t go.” He croaked. “Stay with me, please!” He shouted, pleading, _begging_. “ _Mum_!”

“ _Mum_!” He yelled again as his eyes snapped open and he darted up from the bed, his chest heaving as sweat rolled down the sides of his face. His eyes darted this way and that, taking in his surroundings – he was in the Hospital at Hogwarts, still dressed in his armour, covered in grime, blood, and all sorts of disgusting things.

He rolled out of the bed and crashed to the floor with a grunt and clang of his armour. He groaned, staring up at the ceiling as he writhed and twitched on the floor; his feet and hands scrambled for something to hold on to, anything to help pull himself up.

Moments later, a pair of large, hazel eyes and a familiar face rushed into his vision; her eyes were bloodshot and lined with dark circles. Her lips were tightly pressed together though her bottom lip trembled something fierce. Her hands were cool as they pressed against his face, and moments later, he was back on the bed, the familiar dark curls of Andromeda dancing about at his side as the woman fussed over him.

“Oh, Harry.” She sniffed, dabbing at his brow with a damp cloth, sweeping away what strands of hair had gotten loose and plastered themselves there in grime, sweat, and blood. “Whatever are we going to do with you?” She asked, a pair of wet tracks running down her cheeks.

“Mum.” He moaned as his body continued to tremble. “Saw, mum.”

“Shh,” Andromeda whispered, chewing on her lip as more tears tracked down her face. “It’s alright, Harry. You’re safe now.”

* * *

When he next awoke, his limbs had stopped their trembling and he didn’t feel the same wild panic he had felt the last time he had awoken. In the back of his mind, his mother’s words echoed around his skull – her voice was strong, determined, but whispered just on the edge of hearing. He thought he could hear other sounds – like laughter, cold and malicious, but it could have just as easily been his imagination.

He blinked up at the high vaulted ceiling and lifted his head slowly. There, with his head on the bed next to his thighs, was Sirius, quietly dozing as the early morning light filtered through the large windows of the hospital. He grimaced, shifting in the bed slightly – he was still dressed in his armour, though the gorget had thankfully been removed.

It lay in two pieces on a chair to his right, blackened and charred with a large crack running down the front half. It was ruined.

Sirius stirred as he shifted, and his eyes blinked at him tiredly before snapping into focus. The man didn’t waste a second before launching himself at him, peppering his hairline with kisses as tears streamed down his cheeks as his calloused hands tracked the contours of his face.

“Hey, Padfoot.” Harry groaned, sinking into the pillows with a sigh.

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ scare me like that again, Harry – do you understand me?” Sirius whispered into his hair, pulling away to stare down at him, his mouth twitching in the corners. Tears leaked down his cheeks in steady streams and he sniffed wetly.

“I won’t.” He winced, moving a shoulder tenderly. “I learned my lesson.” He muttered. “I’m sorry I worried you and broke my promise.”

“You did it for a good reason, I suppose – but don’t mistake me, Harry; I’m furious. I’m just happy to see you’re alright.”

“What happened? Where’s Clara? Is Ginny alright?” He asked, sitting up in the bed with a grimace – the leather of his armour creaked and crunched with the dried on remains of whatever it was he was covered in, and he gagged as the smell finally assaulted his nose.

“They’re both fine – Ginny was a little shaken, but her parents were called and she’s with them right now. Clara is being looked after by Dumbledore – he returned to the castle shortly after you came in here.” Sirius smiled at him, sinking into his chair, and grasping his hand tightly.

He leaned his head back with a relieved sigh – the last thing he could remember was just how exhausted Clara had been. There were vague images in his mind of the Great Hall, and his friends, but that was all it was – images. “She’s dead, you know.”

“Who is? The Basilisk? You said as much to the Great Hall last night.”

“She didn’t want to fight me – _I_ didn’t want to fight her when I was down there. Sirius, she was _huge_ , if it wasn’t for Clara…”

“Shh, all that matters now is that you’re safe – do you understand me?” Sirius whispered, edging his chair closer. “That’s all that matters.”

“Will Hogwarts still close?”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s hard to say – if the Basilisk is, in fact, dead, I see no reason for it to close. What about who was controlling her? The only two students unaccounted for last night were you and Ginny.”

Harry grimaced and shifted in the bed uncomfortably as he felt the blood leave his face and his heart pump a little quicker. “It was a boy, _Tom Riddle_ – he was a Slytherin Prefect. He’s the one that had Hagrid expelled.”

“That can’t be right…” Sirius frowned. “There’s no way he’d still be a boy.”

“He wasn’t really – he was kind of there and, well, _not_ there. There was a diary, and it had part of him in it, I think. When I stabbed the diary with the fang, he was destroyed.”

“That sounds like dark magic to me.” Sirius muttered, tracing a thumb back and forth over Harry’s wrist.

“That’s not the worst part, Sirius.” He said slowly, his eyes staring at the far wall where the partition for Hermione’s bed was. He felt his jaw twitch uncomfortably as his fist opened and closed. “The boy – _Tom Riddle_ – he was _Voldemort_.”

Sirius said nothing for a moment and simply stared at him open-mouthed as he blinked dumbly. Harry shifted under his intense gaze as his eyes flickered to meet his godfather’s. The colour had left Sirius’s face, and his magic felt wild and on-edge as it brushed against Harry’s own. With a visible shudder, he watched as Sirius snapped back to himself and placed his forehead against Harry’s hand.

“Oh, Harry.” He sighed; his voice muffled by the bedsheets. “I’m so sorry you had to face him again.”

Harry shrugged. Shockingly, he felt little at having done it a second time – perhaps it hadn’t truly registered with him yet, and it would finally sink in later on, but now? Now he only felt anger against the man that had tormented him for a year, who had caused him to be ostracised by his peers and haunted his dreams in his weakest moments.

“I’m not.” He said after a moment, his voice cracking. Sirius looked at him, confused. “That I faced him again, I mean.”

“What-“ Sirius began, but Harry cut him off, pushing himself up in the bed as he did so.

“Dumbledore said last year that he was going to keep coming for me – well, he wasn’t wrong. _Whatever_ it was about _him_ that I faced down there, all it wanted to do was meet me, to kill me – everything that happened this year was some twisted plan to get me face to face with him.”

“Then we’ll leave, we’ll go where he can’t come after you – you can grow up in Arpton, and-“

“No.” Harry said, sounding far surer of himself than he felt. “I will _not_ run away from him. I’m _done_ letting him scare me, and I’m _done_ letting him affect me.” He took a slow, shaky breath as he looked at Sirius. His magic trickled along his arms and legs as his muscles clenched and unclenched. “I won’t go looking for him, because I’m not an idiot, but if he comes after me again, I want to be ready – or, as ready as I can be.”

“Harry, you’re _twelve_.” Sirius sighed, running a hand down his face, eyeing the trembling vials on his bedside wearily. “He knows magic that you have _no_ place exploring.”

Harry sniffed as the objects around him stilled. “I have no intention of learning the same things as him, but I…”

Harry paused and pursed his lips, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I saw my mother, when I was asleep – as real to me as you are now.”

“Harry…” Sirius sighed, pressing his lips tightly together as he inched closer. “Harry, you saw what you wanted to see – there’s no power on this earth that lets us commune with the dead. Great men and women have gone mad trying to do so.”

“She was so _real_ , Sirius – she told me to be brave, and to be fierce, and-“ Harry’s chest lurched painfully as he took a shuddering gasp. “She told me she loves me.”

“Oh, pup.” Sirius whispered, standing, and wrapping him in a tight embrace. Harry closed his eyes as he burrowed into Sirius’s shoulder, the older man’s beard tickling his cheek as he whispered in his ear. “Of course she loves you – you are _so_ loved, Harry. Me, Remus, Amelia, your friends, Ar-“ Sirius leaned back and cupped both of his cheeks in a manner so similar yet so different than his mother had and he cleared his throat. “ _Arcturus_.”

“He’d be pretty mad right now, wouldn’t he?” Harry murmured, his eyes darting to just over Sirius’s shoulder. In his mind’s eye, Arcturus was standing there. He was dressed in his armour, similar in almost every way to his own; his beard short, and his dark eyes dancing with pride as he smiled down at him. As quickly as it appeared, it faded away into nothingness as he blinked.

“Apocalyptic.” Sirius snorted, just as the doors opened behind him. Both turned to look, and Harry couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Remus and Andromeda walking into the room, both talking quietly between themselves until they spotted him awake in the bed.

Without a second’s hesitation, the two hurried over to him – Andromeda was clad in her Healer’s robes, and was casting spells on him within a heartbeat, while Remus placed a kiss into his hair, his eyes shining and his grin wide as he took him in.

“It’s good to see you awake.” Remus said softly, eying Andromeda’s many spells out of the corner of his eye as he did so. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Harry shrugged, wincing under the slowly raised eyebrow that Andromeda threw his way. He cleared his throat and shimmied into the bed a little more. “I mean, I ache, but that’s honestly about it.”

“I think the treatment Poppy and I gave him when he was resting helped – it seems Clara’s tears did wonders for his body.” Andromeda huffed, swiping her wand through the floating representation of his body. His own magic tingled as it ghosted over him. “You, young man, are going to put years on me – it’s good to see you doing better than last night.”

Harry smiled tightly – he appreciated the sentiment, but he couldn’t help but think that he’d have preferred to stay with his mother for a bit longer, true or not. “Thanks.” He sighed, glancing down at himself. “Is there anywhere I can get out of this? It’s not comfortable and frankly, I feel disgusting.”

Remus and Sirius chuckled, while Andromeda pursed her lips as she smirked lopsidedly, clasping her hands before her. “There’s a clean change of clothes waiting for you in the bathroom over there – make sure you wash behind your ears.”

He rolled his eyes as he stumbled from the bed onto unsure feet. He wobbled precariously for a second – Andromeda was there in a heartbeat, her hands outstretched, ready to catch him if he fell, but far enough away that he was free to move on his own, in his own time. He held up a hand to stave off Sirius and Remus and sighed as he shook his arms, feeling the taught muscles loosen and relax.

He took one careful step from the bed, and then another, his balance and centre of gravity returning with each step toward the single wooden door three beds down. Andromeda hovered behind him, her quiet, gentle steps mirroring his own – she was in full Healer mode, he knew, and he appreciated the fact it was _her_ and not Sirius or Remus hovering over him. He loved them both, but they tended to coddle him, as well intentioned as it was.

Arcturus had taught him to be as self-sufficient and self-reliant as he could be, while Sirius and Remus, in his mind, often treated him as something that could break at the slightest touch. It was their way of showing they cared, he knew, but there were some things that he _had_ to do himself – even something as mundane as walking to the bathroom. Maybe it wasn’t mundane _today_ , the day after fighting and killing a _Basilisk_ , but the principle remained.

His fingers wrapped around the door handle, and he felt his strength return. He pushed it open and slipped inside, Andromeda quietly letting him know she would remain by the door as he nodded and closed it with a click. He let out a sigh as he looked around, taking in the sterile, white tiles of the room.

There was a toilet, a wash basin, a mirror, and a shower, all sparkling white and with a rounded, smooth cord of metal along every edge – no doubt intended to avoid any sharp edges in the event of a fall. On a stool in the corner, lay a fresh change of clothes and new boots, all taken from his room.

He peeled the gambeson off of his body, grimacing at the sickening sounds it made as he shimmied it over his head. He gagged at the sight of it as it made a wet slapping sound against the tiles, little bits of dried blood and who knew what else flaking off onto the tiles.

Next came the chainmail. Even from a cursory glance down at his body, it looked wrecked – the metal was corroded, and there were a number of tears throughout it. He tried to think back to the fight with Ruhxu, but couldn’t recall any specific times he took an injury that could have torn through his mail – though there was no denying the damage. The ties came undone quickly, and that was next to be removed, leaving it a small heap of charred and glinting rings atop his gambeson.

His doublet and tunic felt as if they were being separated from his very body. So slicked in sweat, blood and other matter were they, that he had to pause twice when they needed a forceful tug to separate them from his skin. The doublet was easier to remove, of course, sitting atop the tunic, but it was so encrusted with filth that he could barely pull it over his head.

With his upper body bare, he could see the bruises that not even Clara’s healing had been able to remove, though no doubt she had been far more concerned about the venom coursing through his veins than minor welts and scrapes. He touched a particularly dark one, just below his navel and hissed as his finger ghosted the skin. In his mind, the memory of Ruhxu’s tail striking him flashed before his eyes.

He breathed deeply as he bent to remove his boots, quickly tugging them loose as he tossed them unceremoniously to the side with the rest of his clothes. His trousers were last, and he shivered for a moment in the coldness of the room. He stepped around the mound of wrecked clothing, for even if it was possible to repair or clean any of it, he wanted to do nothing more than burn it, and stepped into the shower basin, flicking the rune for the warm, soapy water as he did so.

How long he remained under the water, he didn’t know – only that all the scrubbing in the world couldn’t remove the thick layers of sweat, grime and blood away. He was thankful, at least, that the only blood that was on him – mostly his face, neck, shoulder, and forearm – was his own. He’d seen what blinding Ruhxu had done to his sword and had no desire to experience it first-hand with his own body.

He would require a new one, of that he was certain; something to ponder for the summer. Whatever it would be, it would be made at Arpton, of that, there was no doubt.

The grime soon gave way to pale flesh, which was promptly scrubbed until it was pink. Of all the aching parts of his body, it was his right, inner forearm, just beneath the elbow that he was the most hesitant to touch. Each time, his body flinched – he could see, clear as day, where the fang had pierced him, but to anyone else, there was naught but perfect skin.

The ghost of his injury hovered before his eyes, and his stomach rolled uncomfortably as he imagined being able to see _through_ his arm. The blood pumped from it steadily and the white of his wrecked bone glinted in the flickering flames of the _Magefyre_ all around him.

He shook himself violently and brought himself back to the present, scrubbing at his thick hair with renewed vigour, scrubbing at his scalp with his fingertips. He sighed as he watched the last of the suds disappear around his feet and he switched the water off with a quick pulse of his magic.

The water dripped from his body as he stepped onto the white tiles – his useless clothes were gone, no doubt taken by the House Elves, or Andromeda had nipped in at the sound of the running water. He glanced at the shower curtain behind him, thankful he’d at least had the presence of mind to pull it to as he washed.

The tiles were also clean again, gone were the flakes of questionable fluids. He summoned a towel to his hand and rubbed himself dry before scrubbing his hair. He shrugged the clean clothes on silently, tugging underwear and trousers on first before tossing the loose, baggy tunic, whose sleeves he rolled to just beneath his elbows. The boots were last – simple dragonhide and fine quality with a firm sole and heel.

He drew himself to his full height and wiped the mist from the mirror with the towel, gazing at himself in the mirror. He had a cut on his cheek, thin and long that trailed his cheekbone, and another on his chin. They were little things that would heal in time, but outside of those two things, he looked to be fine. A little tired, perhaps, but overall fine.

He nodded to himself and stepped from the room – his wand holster and wand hadn’t been on him when he had removed his clothing, and already, he itched uncomfortably with their absence. He could only hope they were on his bedside table.

To see Amelia having joined the others at his bedside, with a pair of Aurors standing guard by the large doors gave him pause. They turned to look at him as the door clicked shut behind him.

“Harry.” Amelia smiled. “It’s good to see you up and about – and _clean_.” She grinned at him, her eyes travelling the length of his body with a raised eyebrow.

“It feels better too.” He replied with a small smile, rolling his right shoulder absently; it felt a little stiff, but otherwise it was fine – something he’d only noticed once he’d started towelling off his body. He glanced at the bed warily. “Have the sheets been changed? Andromeda can threaten me all she likes, but if those are the same sheets…” He winced, remembering some of the larger patches of grime that had covered his armour.

Remus chuckled, while Andromeda simply narrowed her eyes playfully at him and crossed her arms across her chest. “I’ll have you know that I would never force you into filthy sheets.” She sniffed.

“The House Elves came by and changed them while you were in the shower.” Sirius chuckled rocking back and forth on his heels. “I think they were a little eager.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Remus muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“I want to see Clara.” Harry said, clearing his throat as he glanced at the adults. “I need to know she’s okay.”

“She’s fine, Harry – but we need to have a little chat first, if you’re feeling up to it.” Amelia said gently, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly as she sat in a chair and crossed her legs. Her hair was loose for a change, something he assumed had been left forgotten in her mad scramble out of bed when he’d called Sirius before venturing into the _Chamber_.

“I guess.” He shrugged, eyeing those around him warily. “Do you at least know where my wand is first?”

“Oh, I have that here.” Andromeda said, quickly pulling it from her robes. “It was a filthy, so I gave it a quick clean while you were in the shower.” She smiled, handing it to him.

Harry smiled down at the eleven-inch Blackthorn wand in his hands, the wood so dark it appeared completely black, and the pale Vinewood handle with little carvings of vines spiralling around it. With it in his hands again, he felt some of the mounting anxiety leave his body with a rush, and his shoulders sag in relief. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d lost it or it had been damaged somehow.

“I’m sure you understand how serious the accusation of there being a Basilisk in the school is, Harry.” Amelia sighed, folding her hands in her lap carefully as she looked at him.

Harry nodded as he continued to roll the wand between his fingertips absently. He knew all too well just what could have happened to the school if Minister Fudge hadn’t been in denial over any more attacks – it was bad enough Hagrid had taken the blame for it the first time all those years ago.

“You’d have torn the school down, brick by brick looking for it.”

“Possibly, if it was elusive to find.” Amelia hummed, her eyes darting to the Aurors at the door. Harry turned to look at them; one was a large, dark-skinned man with a bald head and broad shoulders, while another was a woman – her hair was dark and braided over her left shoulder. “Though I believe Aurors Shacklebolt and Roberts would have found it without it having to come to that.”

“Are either of them Parselmouths?” He asked, looking at Amelia. She shook her head. “Then they wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Why don’t you walk me through what happened down there?” Amelia asked, her head tilting to the left as she shifted in her seat.

Harry breathed deeply and closed his eyes and felt Sirius squeeze his wrist comfortingly. “It all started around Christmas – we worked out it was a Basilisk, because Hermione realised I was hearing it talk. After that, it was just working out what snakes have the ability to petrify – it wasn’t hard.” He shrugged, opening his eyes. “We wanted to bring as much evidence to you as we could – where the _Chamber_ was, for example, because we didn’t want to have to leave the school.”

He sighed as he glanced at Sirius sheepishly. “I, uh, I mean, _we_ , didn’t really think too much about it after that. I mentioned it to Sirius and Remus, who passed it on to you.” Amelia nodded at that. “It was only about two weeks ago we _thought_ we found the entrance – none of us could be _sure_ , but it was the best bet.”

“And where _was_ the entrance?”

“Didn’t Neville show you?” He asked, blinking at her confused.

“He did, but I’d just like to confirm and hear it from you as well.”

“Oh.” Harry murmured before clearing his throat. “Well, there’s a locket on the statue of Salazar Slytherin in the Trophy Room on the second floor – the statue is the entrance. There’s a spiral staircase that leads down below the castle, and you come to this big cavern – it’s, uh, quite disgusting in there, actually.” He grimaced, feeling his nose crinkle at the memory.

“After that, there’s a big metal door with a Mithril snake on it with ruby eyes. After that, you’re in the _Chamber_ itself – that’s where I fought Ruhxu.”

“And to confirm, Ruhxu was the name of this Basilisk?”

“Aye – she was huge. I’m pretty sure Newt Scamander said the largest ever recorded was forty feet, right?”

“Something like that, give or take.” Amelia huffed, pressing her lips tightly together. “Why?”

“Because Ruhxu was probably at least twice that.” Harry muttered, glancing at the floor as he heard Sirius suck in a breath at his side. “She was Salazar’s Familiar, I think.”

One of the Aurors, the woman, scoffed from the door, and Harry found his eyes darting to her, as all the heads in the room turned. “Something to say, Auror Roberts?”

“Sorry, Director – I just find it hard to believe a _kid_ took on a Basilisk.” She replied, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

“As do I, but we confirmed the fang was indeed from a Basilisk last night.” Amelia sighed, looking back at Harry. “Speaking of – how did you come to get that fang? I doubt this _Ruhxu_ gave it willingly?”

Harry winced. “I, uh – pulled it out of my arm. Just here.” He said, pointing to his forearm, lifting up his tunic sleeve as he did.

“There’s nothing there.” Sirius frowned, his fingers trailing over the smooth skin carefully.

“That’s because of Clara. Clara blinded Ruhxu’s eye after I took her first one – that’s why my sword was wrecked – and after a bit, she lifted her nose enough for me to stab the roof of her mouth with the Sword of Gryffindor. The fang went through my arm when I shoved the sword into her. Clara saved my life.”

“We’ll come to the sword in a minute.” Amelia sighed, rubbing at her temples. “So, your Phoenix healed you – I assume that’s why she’s so exhausted?”

Harry nodded and pressed his lips together.

“Okay – can you tell me anything about whoever was controlling the snake? Who released it?”

Harry was silent for a moment as the questions bounced around his mind. He was reminded, quite suddenly, of a conversation he’d had with Headmaster Dumbledore in the very same room only a year before, following his confrontation with Quirrell. It felt like so long ago, and despite only being a year ago, he felt so much older than he had then.

At the time, he’d been sure that the more people that knew of Voldemort’s survival, the better – but now…

He’d seen what the Ministry was willing to do to placate the Wizengamot and the many citizens of their world with the attacks at Hogwarts. He knew of Minister Fudge’s attempts to stonewall Amelia’s further investigations after Hagrid’s sudden arrest. What would happen if he announced the return of the most feared Dark Lord in recent memory?

He sighed and glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye. “It was a memory of a student, contained in a diary. I destroyed the diary with the fang – it was a boy called _Tom Riddle_. The same student that was given an award for turning in Hagrid and getting him expelled the _last_ time it was opened.”

“Shall I assume it’s the same diary you threw to the ground with the fang?”

“Probably – everything after the fight is pretty fuzzy.”

“Is there anything else I should know?” Amelia asked, pursing her lips as she looked at him. “Anything you might have forgotten?”

“Nothing I can think of.” He said slowly, looking around at those in the room. He chewed his lip for a quiet moment before blurting, “I can show you the _Chamber of Secrets_ , if that’ll help?”

“Harry-“ Sirius began, frowning.

“You can’t possibly think we’d let you go back in there.” Remus scoffed, leaning forward in his chair.

“You need proof it’s dead, right? Other than what I’ve said and a single fang?” Harry asked, looking directly at Amelia.

She looked pained as her eyes darted between her husband and the Steward of House Black, but, eventually, she nodded. “I do. Without a confirmed kill, I would still need to close the school.”

“Then I’ll take you down there then. There’s nothing else dangerous in there – a few bones and remains before the _Chamber_ itself, but nothing dangerous.”

“They can get another Parselmouth and you can tell them how to open it – you’re _not_ going back in there.” Sirius said, his voice hard as Mithril.

“I, uh – I don’t think that would work.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure the _Chamber_ will only open for me now.”

“ _What_?”

“The Mithril snake on the door – after I left with Ginny, I’m pretty sure it said the _Chamber_ was mine now.”

“ _Gods_.” Sirius muttered, stumbling to his feet as he swept his hands down his face tiredly. Harry watched him walk to one of the large windows and lean against the large stone bricks. The sky was blue through the window, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. “Isn’t there anything we can do? Bring the Dwarves in? _Something_?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at Amelia.

“Possibly, but Fudge would never sign off on it – he’s been passing these last two incidents off as rumour as it is. He’s convinced Hagrid is the one responsible.”

“It seems we’re left with little choice in the matter if we’re to keep this school open.” Remus sighed, getting to his feet. “If Harry is to go down there again, he’ll not go with just a handful of Aurors – no offence, Amelia.”

“None taken.” She smirked, her eyes sparkling, while the Aurors at the door huffed their displeasure in the background.

“We’ll all go.” Andromeda nodded, getting to her own feet, patting her robes down.

“On one condition.” Harry said, looking at the adults arrayed around him. “My friends get to come too – do you have any idea what Daphne would do to me if I went back in there and she didn’t know about it?” He shivered a little at the thought.

Amelia looked torn. He knew, on the one hand, she needed a confirmed kill on the creature – even the slightest possibility that the Basilisk could have survived would mean having to tear the school apart looking for it. On the other hand, she couldn’t enter the _Chamber_ without him.

“Absolutely not.” Sirius said, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly. “It’s bad enough you’re entering it again – I’ll not put Castor’s daughter in harm’s way, nor Augusta’s boy.”

“So, Tracey can come?” Harry asked, cocking a brow at him.

“Now you listen-“ Sirius began.

Amelia, however, cut him off. “Very well.”

“I – wait, _what_?” Sirius thundered, spinning to look at his wife. “You-“

“Sirius, I _need_ a body. If he’s telling the truth, I’ll not be able to enter any time soon. Besides, he has the entire summer with the two of us – if he thinks for a _second_ that he’s getting away with this…” Amelia said, levelling a look at Harry; he swallowed nervously.

“ _Fine_!” Sirius snapped with a huff, storming to the door. “I’ll get the _bloody_ children, so we can all enter a _Basilisk’s_ lair together!”

Harry winced as the two Aurors scrambled to open the door for Sirius, their complexions pale as he thundered past them, his magic thrumming around his body and dancing along his fingertips.

“He’ll come around.” Amelia sighed, clasping her hands before her as she turned to look at him. “You, young man, are in for a summer to remember after this.”

“I know.” He muttered, staring at the floor between his feet. “I guess you want to know about the Sword, now?”

“It would be a start.” Amelia answered, her eyes darting to Andromeda and Remus when he looked up. Both adults, he noticed, as he glanced at them, were watching him with differing expressions. Remus looked torn between amused and wanting to scold him, while Andromeda regarded him with an unreadable expression.

“Ser Cadogan told me where to find it, after I, uh, knocked out Filch by accident – is he okay, by the way?”

“He’s fine.” Andromeda huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “None too happy with you.”

“Wonderful.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “It was in a room on the fifth floor, in a portrait. I pulled it out of the painting.” He shrugged.

“It was here the entire time?”

“I guess.” Harry shrugged. “Where is it?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore has it in his office for now – there was some talk of taking it back to the Ministry, but it’s been deemed best to have it remain here.” Remus said, answering before Amelia could.

Before Harry could respond, Sirius strode into the room, sending the doors crashing into the stone walls on their hinges, the two Aurors barely scrambling out the way in time. On his heels were his friends, all anxiously trying to keep up. Harry grinned as he saw them, and within moments, the three of them were sprinting the remaining distance.

They swallowed him in a tight hug, with Neville getting to him first – even Daphne took part in the hug, which was shocking in its own right. He chuckled as his ribs groaned under the pressure – it was a shame there was one missing. He glanced over at the partition and let out a heavy sigh; she’d be back with them soon.

“Harry, if you could lead the way?” Amelia said, clearing her throat as they all broke apart. Harry nodded as his friends looked at him, confused.

“Where are we going?” Tracey asked, frowning. “We just got here.”

“I, uh, have to do one last thing, and thought you might want to come with me.” He said slowly, glancing over his shoulder as he led the way out of the Hospital. Sirius grumbled quietly to Amelia and Remus, while Andromeda took up the rear with the two Aurors.

“To where?” Daphne asked, slowly.

“ _The Chamber of Secrets_.” He answered, chuckling at the way their eyes widened excitedly. Despite the events of the last night and the year as a whole, the _Chamber_ was very much a mysterious place, shrouded in myth and legend – it hadn’t even been a confirmed reality until fifty years ago.

Salazar was such a private, mysterious man, that all sorts of theories and ideas had sprung up over the years, each one as ridiculous as the last. As much as he wanted to avoid Daphne gutting him for entering the damned place without her, he couldn’t have wasted the opportunity to share the discovery with them. After all, Daphne and Tracey had done most of the work.

When she woke up, he’d definitely be taking Hermione down there – he wouldn’t have her being the only one not to look upon it. Besides, she deserved it, having been attacked by the Basilisk and all.

“You’re joking.” Neville blinked, stumbling slightly.

“Not at all – Amelia needs a confirmed kill.” Harry shrugged as they passed the Great Hall – it was mostly empty, but for a small handful of students that didn’t notice their passing. Moments later, they were climbing the first staircase.

Everyone was silent as they climbed up and up, the stairs thankfully remaining in place as they travelled from landing to landing. By the time they made it to the Trophy Room itself, Harry’s legs had a pleasant ache running up and down them.

They passed the statues, until they stood in front of Salazar himself; his stone eyes staring at Rowena. Harry’s eyes were fixated on the locket and the stone serpent. “Haju.” He said, watching as its little eyelids blinked open slowly.

“ _Master_.” It hissed demurely. “ _The Heir of Slytherin commands, and I obey_.”

Harry grimaced, and Amelia was immediately at his side, glancing between himself and the statue. “What did it say?”

“It called me the _Heir of Slytherin_.” He sighed. “Well, I guess everyone was eventually right.”

“Everyone in the castle has blamed Harry for the attacks all year – they all thought _he_ was the Heir.” Neville said, looking up at Amelia.

“I know, Neville.” She answered him with a sigh before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, Harry – let’s get this over with.”

“Open the _Chamber_.” Harry said, turning back to look at the statue. Within seconds, the statue was sinking into the stone floor, the grinding noise bouncing along the corridor-like room loudly. With a dull thud, the statue halted, and the dank staircase awaited them.

Harry went first, his eyes quickly adjusting to the low-light cast by the lichen and the moss on the wall. “Watch your step.” He muttered, lighting the tip of his wand with a murmured _Lumos_ , pointing it down the stairs. “It’s a bit slippery.”

Sirius followed him immediately, his own wand flicking into his hand as the tip came alive with a white light. He led the way down slowly, taking care where to place his feet.

“What happened to Lockhart?” Tracey asked from above, her voice loud in the small, silent space.

It was the Auror, Shacklebolt, that answered her with a snort. “We took him into custody as he tried to bolt from the castle.”

“Good riddance.” Daphne muttered.

“Coward.” Neville grunted, echoing Harry’s own private thoughts.

Lockhart had been hired to teach the students and to protect them from danger, after all, the staff were responsible for those they taught – he couldn’t imagine abandoning _children_ to save himself, no matter the circumstances.

“He’ll get his for abandoning the school, don’t you worry.” Roberts said, just as Harry stepped from the spiral staircase.

The cavern looked much the same as it had the previous night, only less foreboding with the sunlight filtering through the large cracks, rather than pale moonlight. The stench was just as rank, however, and he covered his nose on reflex with the crook of his elbow.

“It’s _foul_ down here.” Tracey muttered, joining his side a moment later as she glanced down at the layer of detritus that blanketed the floor. “Really vile.”

“I’m not sure what’s more disgusting – this or Devil’s Snare.” Daphne muttered, quickly followed by an insulted huff from Neville.

“Come on, the _Chamber_ is on the far side.” He said, quickly making his way into the cavern, making a point of _not_ looking around in the extra light that he hadn’t had the night before. He passed the remains of the Centaur and ignored the horrified gasp of Tracey until they came upon the abandoned snakeskin just before the stairs.

“ _Damn_ , he really wasn’t exaggerating.” Roberts muttered, casting her wand over it slowly, the scales shimmering in the pale light. “You’ve got balls to come down here on your own, kid.” She said, looking at him.

He shrugged and began to make his way down the uneven steps. With more light, it was easier to see where he was putting his feet this time, and at the bottom, the milky-white metal of the Mithril serpent caught the light every few seconds. Even from the top of the stairs, he could clearly see the pair of unnatural, crimson eyes that tracked his every movement.

This time, the snake said nothing to him, its hood barely even twitching behind its head as the door swung open and the _Chamber_ lit with _Magefyre_ torches along what pillars remained intact.

In the flickering blue light of the _Chamber of Secrets_ , Ruhxu’s corpse lay for everyone in the group to see. There were the startled gasps, and behind him, Andromeda gripped his shoulder painfully with her free hand. Daphne gripped his wrist, while Sirius and Remus cursed under their breath.

“Holy _shit_.” Shacklebolt swore, stumbling down the steps beside him slowly. “You really did kill it – _how_?”

“I told you.” Harry shrugged. “It was Clara, mostly. Ginny lay at the foot of the statue at the far end, just by the edge of the water.” He said, pointing a little way past the corpse, where the flickering light of the columns of _Magefyre_ by Salazar’s head cast dancing shadows over the stone tiles.

Amelia and Roberts hurried to the corpse and began casting their wands over the creature, bold, orange trails flowing behind the tips of their wands as they murmured under their breath. Shacklebolt remained at Harry’s side, as did the other adults as they stepped around the fallen Basilisk warily, half expecting it to jump up at any moment; Harry knew better though – he knew the snake was dead, her huge body would no doubt be harvested for materials and sold to the highest bidder – something he would have to oversee personally as the one who dealt the fatal blow.

It would be prestige for House Potter, something that would make both allies and enemies hesitate for the rest of his life, but now, as he looked at her ruined face, and the deep cuts the Sword of Gryffindor had left all over her body, he couldn’t help but feel remorse.

He had declared his intention to kill her to his friends – she had attacked Hermione, after all – but now, looking at her, he couldn’t help but feel the sharp, stabbing lance of regret in his chest. After all was said and done, no matter how dangerous he knew she was, Ruhxu was a _magnificent_ creature.

There was no way she could have survived in their world – Basilisks were illegal for a reason; hunted down when one was discovered, _for a reason_. It just seemed like such a _waste_. He could remember the painful, wailing screeches that he hadn’t paid any heed during their fight. Whatever Tom had done, it had finally broken her mind, and she had become nothing more than a slave to Riddle.

“There’s blood here.” Daphne muttered, drawing his eyes away from the snake, whose ruined eyes stared at him dully, the only thing that vaguely indicated they _had_ , in fact, been eyes at all was the very visible eye sockets and the ridge above them.

“Aye, it’s mine.” Harry muttered, looking down at the stone tile. “There was the wound in my arm, and I coughed up a fair bit from the venom, I think.”

“The _venom_?” Tracey cried, whirling on him with furious eyes. “You let her _bite_ you?”

“Not on purpose.” Harry answered with a roll of his eyes, ignoring the way she pursed her lips and cocked her hip at him. “One of her fangs went through my arm when I killed her – Clara healed me.”

“I _told_ you coming down here was stupid.” Daphne sniffed, purposely not looking at him.

“Where do the passages lead?” Neville asked, changing the subject as he pointed to the large archways that branched off from the large room.

“No clue – Ruhxu came from the mouth of the statue, and I never went down any of them. They look large enough for her to use, though.”

“We’ll map it all out.” Amelia said, striding up to them from behind. “I suspect we’ll be down here fairly often, Harry, _but_ , with your help, we could have this whole thing sorted by the time we pick you up from London.”

“Really?” He asked, fighting the urge to grin. “You mean the school won’t close?”

“No, I see no reason to close the school now – not even the Ministry can shrug _this_ off.” She sighed, glancing over her shoulder to look at the still form of Ruhxu. In the dancing light of the _Chamber_ , shadows flittered across Amelia’s face. “I’m looking at it and _I’m_ struggling to believe it.” She muttered, before glancing down at him, a soft smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “You continue to surprise me, Harry.”

* * *

It was the middle of the afternoon when Harry was finally escorted to the Headmaster’s office on the seventh floor – from everything he had seen from the windows of the school along his journey, it had continued to be a pleasant day.

The sun shone brightly, casting its warm hues over the expansive grounds of the school, and the sky was a rich blue, clear of any clouds and only marred by the occasional Familiar soaring along the gentle breeze that caused the flags to flap, and the tops of the large pine trees to sway gently.

It had felt liberating, to leave the _Chamber_ after spending much of the day wandering about the eerie tunnels. They had, in truth, only wandered along a single one, and it had stretched on almost forever. The brick and stone had been slick and covered in all sorts of unmentionable fluids, and they had come across three more skins – none quite so large as the one outside the _Chamber_ itself, but still equally as impressive.

His friends had been in awe the entire time, each of them looking at him a little differently in their own way after seeing what remained of Ruhxu. Tracey had a slight glint of _something_ in her hazel eyes when she looked at him, and in truth, the colour hadn’t quite returned to her cheeks in the time since they had retreated back to the school. Daphne had been quiet; they had talked a little as they wandered the tunnel along with the Aurors, Sirius, Remus, and Andromeda, but of the three, she had been the most subdued.

Neville had been, well, _Neville_. He had been excited from almost the first moment he had set foot in the large, cavernous room, and more than once Sirius had to grip the back of his coat before he rushed off to look at some lichen along the walls. His exuberance was matched only by his quiet murmurings that he wished he’d been there to help him – truly, he could have no better companion.

The adults had been split – Sirius had stewed quietly in his anger, unaccepting that it was _he_ who needed to access the _Chamber_ , that it was only _him_ that Haju would answer to; something that sat uncomfortably with Harry himself. Remus, while reluctant to let Harry out of his sight for even a heartbeat, was almost as enthralled with the hidden sanctuary of Slytherin as Neville, while Andromeda had been reserved, her face guarded; the only crack in the mask she wore being the quiet, shaky breathes whenever she glanced upon the remains.

Amelia and the Aurors had left the castle – he’d watched them walk from the main doors toward the path to the winged boar gates to the north of the school. They were to return with a larger group and plenty of equipment to begin the mapping of the tunnels and to catalogue the corpse for the Ministry’s records.

It had been most startling to be told, in no uncertain terms, that Ruhxu’s remains belonged to _him_. It was an old law, from a time shortly before the breeding of such creatures was outlawed – whomsoever defeated the beast, would be given its remains; a way of _encouraging_ witches and wizards, who were sufficiently trained, to hunt them down, wherever they were found.

He’d looked to Sirius, who had nodded silently at the news. Amelia had been the one to break the news to him, her lips had been pressed tightly together as her eyes had darted between himself and the remains. So, in the darkness of the _Chamber of Secrets_ , with only the dancing _Magefyre_ to illuminate the world around him, Harry had found himself the owner of Ruhxu’s remains – the largest Basilisk on record, and a specimen of over a thousand years, brought low by a child of twelve and a sword straight out of history.

It would have made a good story, if it hadn’t been _him_ that had almost died, choking on his own blood, a gaping hole in his arm, and the corrosive agony of Basilisk Venom coursing through his body. Even as he glanced around the corridor leading the Headmaster’s office, he could still feel the lingering ache in his arm just beneath his elbow, and the tightness in his chest as he remembered the laboured gasps of breath he’d fought for with his head propped up against Ginny’s thigh. The cold, mocking laughter of Tom Riddle – _Voldemort_ – as he stood over him, his sickening, crimson eyes glowing in the darkness of the _Chamber_.

He shivered to himself as the sound whispered in his mind. He breathed deeply through his nose and breathed out through his mouth – a simple exercise from the Mind Healer he had seen briefly after the incident on the road to Arpton all those years ago, and something he had come to use once more after the events of this terrible, _terrible_ year.

Professor McGonagall peered down at him from where she walked at his side, her dark robes flowed about her feet as her heeled boots clicked against the flagstone. Her hair, as always, was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head; her face was stony, expressionless, but for her eyes – her brown eyes danced over him, and he smiled as she brushed her magic against his own; it was warm and soothing, and the brief glimpse of her exasperation at his antic almost made him snort.

The two of them arrived at the large gargoyle guardian, and its stone eyes blinked at the two of them slowly, only stepping aside when McGonagall announced the password – _Kitkat_ , of all strange things. The two of them stepped onto the large, spiral staircase as it rose into the air, the grinding of the stone almost deafening, until the heavy, dull boom announced their arrival.

As Professor McGonagall led the way, Harry was content to follow in her wake. He followed her through the heavy oak door, and through a small chamber, before entering the office of Albus Dumbledore without so much as a knock.

His eyes swept the room, taking in the gadgets, and knickknacks in the glass cabinets, all buzzing and whirring away quietly behind, what he assumed, were powerful silencing spells – especially as one in particular, a metal goblet that was hissing steam, kept slamming itself against the glass.

There were the usual shelves of hundreds of books, all reaching high up toward the vaulted ceiling, and his fingers itched to trace themselves over their leather spines, to open them up and see what secrets they held.

The soft caw of Fawkes pulled his attention to Dumbledore’s desk, and his lips pressed tightly together at seeing his Familiar tucked into herself, her feathers dull compared to their usual vibrancy. Her eyes were closed, and the only thing that calmed him was seeing how Fawkes fussed over her as she slept.

“Ah, Harry.” Dumbledore smiled, peering over his spectacles. Harry looked at him for the first time, and bowed his head, though his eyes continued to dart between the elderly wizard and the Phoenix that had saved his life – _twice_ , now; no doubt she would be counting.

“Headmaster.” He answered quietly. “Is she-“

“Clara is a remarkable Phoenix, I do well believe that curing someone of Basilisk Venom would be a task that would have forced a Burning Day on Fawkes – that Clara shows no sign of a burning is something quite remarkable.” Dumbledore said, standing to run his fingers down the neck of Fawkes. “She is simply resting, though I understand your anxiety. She ate shortly before you arrived – a juicy pair of steaks, I believe it was.”

“She’ll have all the steak she could ask for this summer.” Harry said, clasping his arms at the small of his back.

“Do you still need me, Albus?” McGonagall asked from where she had come to a stop by Dumbledore’s desk. “I barely trust Sirius to behave himself without someone there to mind him.”

Harry smiled privately to himself as Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he lowered his aging body into the large, throne-like chair behind his desk. “No, Minerva, you may leave – that is, if Harry here doesn’t object?”

He shrugged as the two adults looked at him – McGonagall with the faintest hint of a smile, and Dumbledore with his gentle smile as his fingers steepled themselves in front of his face. “I’m sure Professor McGonagall has more important things to do than watch over me.”

“It would seem I might have to do just that after last night’s escapades, Mister Potter.” She said, patting him on the shoulder as she strode past him. “I’m glad you’re safe.” She added quietly, before moving past him and out the door.

The room was silent for a moment as the quiet click of the latch echoed throughout the room. Harry glanced up at the many portraits peering down at him, all with mixed expressions on their faces – some were curious, leaning forward in their painted chairs, while others seemed disinterested, content to busy themselves with whatever it was that magical portraits did.

“Now, I’m sure you must realise just how many school rules you broke in the last twenty-four hours?” Dumbledore said, drawing Harry’s eyes once more. Harry inclined his head slowly and licked his lips. “Therefore, I think it only fitting that you, and your friends, including Miss Granger, receive Special Awards, for services to this school.”

Harry blinked as his mouth opened and closed. He’d thought for sure that he was to be punished for venturing into the _Chamber_ – it made sense, after all. He had rendered a member of staff unconscious, accidentally, of course, and ventured into the _Chamber_ when he should have left it to the Aurors and joined his fellow students in the Great Hall. That the Aurors wouldn’t have been able to enter the hidden sanctum was a moot point – they were the adults, and it was up to _them_ to handle the dangerous situations.

Sirius had been _quite_ clear on that.

Not only was he not being punished or reprimanded, but he was to be given a Special Award – that meant his name would forever remain in the Trophy Room; his name would be going in _Hogwarts: A History_! _Merlin_ , Hermione would be in her favourite book!

“I don’t know what to say…”

Dumbledore smiled through his thick, white beard and leaned forward in his chair. “I want to thank you, Harry. You showed real courage and bravery down in the _Chamber_ – to put yourself in harm’s way to protect those in the school after everything you’ve suffered this year… I can’t be sure if I’d have done the same in your shoes.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he fidgeted on the spot. He ducked his head for a moment, staring at a spot between his boots, before looking back up at the Headmaster of the school. “It was the right thing to do – I’m sure anyone else would have done the same.”

Dumbledore chuckled and sat back in his chair, his hands resting comfortably on the arms as he shook his head sadly. “I fear you overestimate the selflessness of people, Harry – though I admire your faith. I have seen much in my time; I have seen the best, and I have witnessed the worst. Through it all, I have held fast to my hope, and I hope it’s something that remains with you for the rest of your life.”

“I know how fickle people can be.” Harry shrugged. “They love and fear me in the same breath – I’m used to it.”

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore nodded, a hand rising, only to slowly run down his beard. “The price that comes with such renown – something, I believe, you to be handling remarkably well. You keep your friends close, and your loved ones closer; there is a strength to that, a magic, if you will.”

Harry tilted his head his head slightly as his brow furrowed. “A magic?”

“Indeed – it is a subtle one, but one I believe there, nonetheless. Take your search for the _Chamber of Secrets_ , Harry. Your drive, and those of your friends, to protect the young Miss Granger, led you, inevitably, to discover the location of a secret that this castle has kept hidden for over a thousand years.”

“That was all Daphne, I just spoke Parseltongue.” Harry muttered, shifting awkwardly.

“Perhaps, but circumstances conspired to place you exactly where you needed to be, _when_ you needed to be there. If that isn’t magic, what is, hm?” Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow as he peered over his glasses.

“Bad luck?”

Dumbledore chuckled as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the large desk that sat between the two of them. Slowly, his amusement faded, and his eyes became serious, and Harry caught a glimpse of the powerful wizard behind the lilac robes and the strange pieces of wisdom. “I sense that something is troubling you – am I right, Harry?”

He breathed deeply and winced. “I uh, I couldn’t help but notice certain similarities between Tom Riddle and myself.”

“I see – and have you mentioned any of these to anyone?”

“No, sir. I only noticed them when we were leaving the _Chamber_ just before Professor McGonagall brought me here.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly and pursed his lips. “You can speak Parseltongue, _possibly_ , because Lord Voldemort can speak Parseltongue.” Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. “Magic seeks _balance_ , Harry – in all things. Tom Riddle was an exceptionally brilliant young man, with a number of gifts that set him apart from his peers. _You_ , are an exceptionally brilliant young man, who _also_ has a number of gifts that set you apart from the rest of the students within these halls.”

“I’d rather _not_ be set apart.” Harry muttered with a sigh.

“Indeed, and I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest, Harry. Tell me, what do you know about the balance of magic in the world? Of _Wild Magic_?”

He shrugged. “Only what I’ve read, and what you’ve told me. Wild Magic is in everything, even Muggles – the more you have, the higher chances you can cast magic.”

Dumbledore nodded before standing and walking around his desk slowly, leaning against the edge as he clasped his hands before him. “There is truth to that, though none of us really know much of anything about Wild Magic – that is, because of that very reason, why we refer to it as _wild_ , you see.” Dumbledore paused and pursed his lips as his eyes grew distant for a moment. “You understand the categorisation of wizards and witches, correct?”

“Aye.” Harry nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting at the small of his back.

“Here, why don’t we get more comfortable, Harry.” Dumbledore smiled, gesturing to a pair of chairs by the fireplace. Harry followed, and sank into the plush armchair across from Dumbledore, who sat on the edge of his own, leaning on the arm. “There are those we consider _Mages_ – men and women with such incredible power that many end up being taught in the very textbooks you study today.”

“You’re one – so was Grindelwald.”

“Correct. Sometimes, many are born close together, or even in the same generation during times of strife and chance. Other times, they are born decades, even centuries apart, but there will always be one to balance out the other in the event of conflict. I have always believed it to be nature’s way of making sure the balance of magic is maintained.”

“You’re saying I’m Voldemort’s balance, aren’t you? His equal?” Harry sighed, feeling the air rush from his lungs as he slumped back in the chair. “That’s why I’m the first Potter to speak Parseltongue.”

“Possibly – it is nothing more than a theory.” Dumbledore shrugged. “None can say _why_ people are born with the gifts they have, nor truly, what drives men and women to make the choices they do. Voldemort, at the height of his power, in the middle of a war he was winning, chose to target _you_ – a child of not even two years, and by so doing, he was laid so low that he was robbed of his physical body.”

“I don’t _want_ to be his equal. I just want to come to school and be with my friends.”

“You may not be, Harry – after all, this is simply the theory of an old man. I have no proof either way; only my own thoughts.” Dumbledore smiled. “My advice, if I may be so bold as to offer it,” Harry nodded. “enjoy your time in school. Laugh, play, love, and learn. Become the best possible version of yourself that you can be. If, in the future, it _does_ come down to a battle between the two of you, make sure you enter it with no regrets.”

“Did you have regrets when you faced Grindelwald?” Harry asked, taking a shaky breath as he looked at the wizard across from him. “You were his equal, right? His balance.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth behind the beard. “I had many regrets when I faced Gellert, but I think that a topic for another day when you’re a little older, hm? I do believe we’re about to have a visitor.”

No sooner than the words left his mouth, the door to the office was thrown open, banging violently against the stone wall. In the entrance was Lucius Malfoy, his pale face and platinum hair a harsh contrast to the dark robes he wore. He held his cane in his hand as he peered around the space with contempt.

A pair of large, emerald eyes peered out from behind his cloak, and Harry couldn’t suppress his gasp of surprise. “Dobby!” He said, looking back at the wizard in the doorway as he got to his feet. “So _this_ is your master – you serve House Malfoy.”

Dobby cringed as he glanced up at the Lord of House Malfoy. “I’ll deal with you later.” Lucius growled dangerously, glaring at the House Elf. Harry’s jaw clenched.

Lucius immediately strode over to the pair of them, and Dumbledore manoeuvred around him toward his desk. Just as Lucius made to shove him out of the way with his cane, Harry’s hand darted out and gripped it tightly, his magic thrumming.

“Try and touch me with that stick again, and I’ll make good on Sirius’s warning in Diagon Alley.” He said, releasing the dark wood as Lucius yanked it free with a scoff.

The Lord of House Malfoy turned to regard the Headmaster in his chair as he passed Harry, paying him no further mind. A snub, to be sure, but one that suited Harry just fine. “So, it’s true then. You have returned.”

“When the Board of Governors learned that Arthur Weasley’s daughter was taken into the _Chamber_ , they saw fit to summon me back.” Dumbledore replied easily with a small smile.

Lucius made a face as he turned from the desk. “Ridiculous.” He spat, and Harry found his eyes rolling.

“Curiously, Lucius, several were under the impression that you would curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

“How _dare_ you.” Lucius hissed, striding toward the desk, and placing his hands on the varnished wood. Harry pulled his wand from where he’d stashed it in his waistband after leaving the _Chamber_.

“I beg your pardon?” Dumbledore murmured, raising his eyebrows, and shifting forward ever so slightly.

“My _sole_ concern has always been and will always be the welfare of this school, and of course its students.” Lucius said, glancing over his shoulder at him. Harry narrowed his eyes and felt his muscles tense. “The culprit has been identified; I presume?”

“Oh yes.” Dumbledore nodded slowly.

“ _And_? Who was it?”

Harry glanced at Dumbledore and found the Headmaster’s eyes meeting his own for a moment. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair as he returned his focus to the man before him. “Voldemort.”

Lucius stumbled away from the desk as if he’d been struck, his already pale complexion paling further as his lips trembled. The fear radiated from him, his magic so thick with it, that for a moment, Harry had to fight the urge to physically react.

“Only, this time, he chose to act through somebody else. By means, of this.” Dumbledore continued, holding up the ruined diary from his desk. Harry shifted uncomfortably at the sight of it, remembering the moment he’d pierced it with the Basilisk fang far too vividly.

“Ah, I see.”

Harry’s hand clenched around the handle of his wand as the quiet padding of Dobby’s feet reached his yes. He glanced down at the small Elf, who inclined his head between the diary and Lucius.

“Our young Mister Potter destroyed it. One would hope that no more of Voldemort’s old school things should find their way into innocent hands.” Dumbledore continued, and Harry’s eyes darted between the diary and Lucius. “The consequences for the one responsible would be _severe_.”

“Well,” Lucius murmured, turning to look at him. Harry returned his gaze and lifted his chin. “Let us hope that _Mister_ Potter will always be around to save the day.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Harry answered, raising a brow at the older man. “I’ll always be where I need to be.”

“Indeed.” Lucius sniffed, regarding the Headmaster one last time. “Dumbledore. Come, Dobby – we’re leaving.” He said, coldly. Harry watched as Dobby shuffled forward, only to cry out as Lucius kicked him down the steps that led to the outer chamber of Dumbledore’s office.

Harry breathed deeply and clenched his fist around his wand as he watched the small creature, one that had risked so much to help him, stumble to his feet, moaning pitifully. How could anyone treat a House Elf so cruelly?

He watched the two of them leave before turning to Dumbledore’s desk, something of a prank that Sirius would be proud of forming in the recesses of his mind. “Can I borrow the diary for a moment?” He asked, pointing to the ruined black book. Dumbledore inclined his head, his eyes twinkling over his glasses mischievously.

Harry grinned as he picked the book up, and quickly knelt down and tugged his boot free before ripping the sock from his foot. The air of the room was cold on his bare foot, and he winced as he placed it against the cold, wooden floor beneath him.

He folded the sock carefully between the pages before slapping the book closed and tugging his boot on and rushing from the room, the diary firmly held in his hand. He took the stairs two at a time and rushed down the corridor. He sprinted past a pair of suits of armour, and a portrait of Magnus the Magnificent before he finally caught a glimpse of the pair.

“Lord Malfoy!” He called, coming to a stop just before them. The blonde man turned and looked at him, his lips pursed impatiently, and an eyebrow raised. “I have something of yours.” He said, shoving the diary into his hands.

“ _Mine_?” Lucius chuckled humourlessly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.” He answered, the corner of his lip twitching as Lucius threw the diary into Dobby’s hands and stepped closer, towering over him.

“Why don’t you prove it?” Lucius hissed, his upper lip twitching as his cold, grey eyes bore down on him.

“You already did.” Harry whispered, leaning a little closer with a smirk.

Lucius scoffed and stepped back, peering down at the House Elf. “Come, Dobby.” He commanded, turning to continue down the corridor.

Harry looked at the Elf in the filthy pillowcase and whispered, “Open it.” Dobby looked up at him, his head tilted to the side, confused, as his large green eyes darted between himself and the book in his hands. Harry watched as Dobby’s long fingers slowly opened the pages, the book opening on the page where Harry had hidden the sock.

He smirked as Dobby’s eyes grew shiny, and his fingers trembled as he picked up the piece of clothing.

“Dobby!” Lucius called once more.

“Master has given Dobby a sock!”

“ _What_? I didn’t gi-“

Harry smirked at the long haired, pale Lord at the end of the corridor, and did his best attempt at Sirius’s trademark wink.

“Master has presented Dobby with _clothes_ – Dobby is _free_!” Dobby cried, hugging the sock to his chest.

“ _You_!” Lucius hissed, and Harry fought the urge to grin. “You lost me my servant!” He snapped, pulling his wand from his cane. Immediately, Harry’s own wand was pointed at the older wizard, and his magic thrummed around him.

“You shall not harm Harry Potter!” Dobby cried, leaping between the two of them. With barely a flick of his tiny wrist, Lucius was thrown down the corridor, bouncing off of the far wall, the clattering of his cane and wand on the stone shortly following.

Lucius scrambled to his feet and glared at him from down the corridor. “Your parents were meddlesome fools – mark my words Potter, you’ll meet the same fate.” He hissed, before marching off down the corridor. Harry scoffed before looking down at the Elf before him.

Dobby was looking up at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “Harry Potter freed Dobby – how can Dobby ever repay him?”

“Just keep being you, Dobby.” He grinned in return, kneeling before the Elf. “Just… stop trying to save my life.”

Dobby laughed as he dove at Harry, wrapping his tiny arms around his neck – the tears of joy from the creature were reward enough.

* * *

The Great Hall was alive with the sounds of laughter, good conversation, and the usual sounds that came with eating. Forks clattered on plates, and dishes clinked together as students all around him scrambled for food.

Harry sat quietly, content to flick through the page of his copy of _Tales Through The Mages_ with his left hand while he nibbled his food. To his left, Neville shovelled food into his mouth, barely taking the time to swallow between mouthfuls.

In the last two days, Neville’s appetite had grown to unprecedented proportions – the boy was always hungry, nibbling on something or another in between meals, and when they found themselves in the Great Hall, he made sure to eat his fill.

However, he was no Ron Weasley in his ravenous hunger. While Ron’s concept of table manners were theoretical at best, Neville remained the consummate future Lord of House Longbottom – it was only through knowing him as well as Harry did, that he was able to tell the difference in how he ate.

Across the way, over the edge of his book of moving and still photographs, he eyed Daphne and Tracey, talking quietly among themselves as they helped themselves to their food. Unlike him, the two of them looked to be eating a pasta dish, while he himself was picking at a spicy stir-fry with chunks of chicken, peppers, and noodles, all of which were covered in a peppery sauce.

Like the students of Hogwarts, up at the High Table, the professors were equally occupied by the plethora of food available before them. Dumbledore sat in his usual golden throne in the centre of the table, while the staff took up the rest of the table – Hagrid was only conspicuous by his absence.

Amelia had released him immediately after leaving the _Chamber of Secrets_ weeks ago, countermanding the direct order of Cornelius Fudge himself, if Sirius was to be believed; he’d been ecstatic at the thought of his wife going toe-to-toe with the Minister. Unfortunately, the experience of having only stayed a short period of time in the infamous stronghold of _Azkaban_ , meant that the gentle giant needed a lengthy recovery from all of the Dementor exposure.

Just the very thought of the vile things were enough to send a cold shiver down his spine – he’d had nightmares about them for a month after first learning about them from a book in the Black Library when he was seven. Foul things, the lot of them; why the Ministry kept them around was anyone’s guess.

The last weeks since he had freed Dobby had seen the castle return to a sense of normalcy. Gone was the fear that had been draped over the school like a heavy blanket, and the brightening days of the beginning of summer seemed to reflect the cheery mood of the halls of Hogwarts.

It was common now, to see students flying around the grounds on their brooms in the evenings, or on the weekends, weaving around the towers alongside their winged Familiars; Harry had spent much of his free time – when he wasn’t revising for the upcoming exams at Hermione’s bedside with his friends – flying through the air with Hedwig, and a fully recovered Clara.

It had taken longer than he would have liked, but his fiery feathered friend had returned to him after a week, looking as strong as she ever did, and with a grown attachment to him. She had followed him into his classes on more than one occasion, much to the exasperation, or joy, depending on the professor.

He’d found himself closer than ever to his two Familiars. Hedwig would alternate between her perch by the window and his shoulder when he was in his room, and Clara would sit on the foot of his bed, her sharp talons delicately gripping the wood beneath her as her black eyes tracked his every movement.

The bond in his mind between his Familiars had deepened as well, though more-so with Clara than Hedwig. He had always considered himself close to Clara in a way that he could never quite put into words; only now, it seemed she was always there, in the back of his mind. Twice, she had appeared without any verbal calling, and twice he had nearly shit himself at the sudden, booming flames appearing above him as he walked down the stairs, or through a quiet corridor.

His eyes tracked the air above him for a moment, half expecting the creature to appear above him. When she didn’t, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and speared a chunk of chicken with his fork.

A bark of laughter from the Slytherin table cause his eyes to glance over to the two gorillas, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle laughing loudly at something another in their little huddle had said; their beady eyes darted in his direction, and their laughter soon died when they caught his stare. There was something to be said about the whole school knowing you’d defeated a Basilisk.

It was when one of the group, a girl with flame-red hair, shifted in her seat on the bench, when he eyed the familiar mop of platinum blonde hair. Draco had been insufferable all year, though he’d not been so brazen since the scuffle in the Transfiguration Courtyard. It had been the mocking, and the arrogant strutting around that had constantly set Harry’s teeth on edge.

The year had also seen the arrival of Draco’s latest phrase, something the Weasley Twins loved to impersonate at any given opportunity. “ _Just wait until my father hears about this_!” He would snap, at any small slight, or perceived insult, though he dared not mutter it around the professors.

 _Merlin_ , the summer couldn’t arrive quickly enough.

He had no plans this summer – besides attending the Wizengamot on the second of each month. Perhaps he could spend some time at Arpton. It would be good to see Felix, and Brandon again. He could take Arlan riding along the edge of Potter’s Wood; he could even visit Cochenwaith. Or, he could even venture out further than ever before and visit the likes of Potterton, or Croftswood to the north.

He’d missed Arpton, more than he ever had before. He’d chalked it up to having stayed there longer than he ever had before during the previous summer. Waking up in his large bed in the Lord’s Chamber and eating with everyone in the Hall had filled him with such a profound sense of _belonging_. It had felt like _home_.

That wasn’t to say that Blackwall wasn’t also his home, but he was _Potter_ , not a _Black_ – no matter what Sirius, Remus, and Amelia did to make him feel welcome, it would never be quite the same.

He flipped the page with a flick of his finger and smiled to himself as he chewed on a mouthful of chicken, red pepper, and red onion. Perhaps, if he asked nicely, Neville and Daphne could join him this year – he’d meant to invite them last summer, but, as he was becoming all too aware, plans often had to be changed.

Pursed his lips, his eyes scanned the lines of text while his mind drifted to his friends. Daphne and Neville would no doubt be attending the same sessions of the Wizengamot as himself, and Neville had begun to learn some of the businesses of the Longbottom family last year – what would Daphne be up to? Suffering through grand courting gestures, no doubt, and holding onto what little patience remained with Astoria.

He snickered quietly to himself at the thought of the youngest Greengrass – she was due to start Hogwarts in September, and unlike her sister, he couldn’t _wait_. Would Hogwarts be able to handle the rambunctious, energetic Astoria?

If there was one thing he was most looking forward to next year, it was that. That and Hogsmeade trips.

He’d only visited Hogsmeade once, two months before his first trip to Arpton – it had been so _big_ , and the hundreds and hundreds of people going about their lives. Even now, it was difficult to decide which was busier; Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley.

The trips into the town were set to be great – he’d have his friends with him, and he could finally visit some of the stores that he always heard the older students gushing about. Places like _The Three Broomsticks_ , and _Honeydukes_ , and-

The clearing of Dumbledore’s throat halted his errant train of thought as he turned to look up at the Headmaster as he stood behind his large, gilded podium, peering down at all of them along the benches of the hall.

“I do apologise for interrupting what appear to be some delicious meals, but I would like to make this quick announcement.” He said, and Harry noticed the retreating form of Madame Pomfrey through a side door – he hadn’t realised she had been missing from the Head Table.

“What do you think this is about?” Neville whispered in his ear. Harry shrugged – he hadn’t a clue.

“I would like you all to join me for a moment, in congratulating Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey, who couldn’t join us tonight, for successfully harvesting the Mandrakes required for reviving those poor souls, student, and staff alike, who fell afoul of the Basilisk.”

The whole hall erupted in cheers and enthusiastic clapping, while Harry blinked dumbly. He glanced back at Neville who just shrugged as he continued to clap, though a wide, excited grin split his face. “If she’s harvested them, that means Hermione will be back to normal any day!” Neville cried, nudging his shoulder.

His stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot – things rarely went this well without there being some sort of catch. At the Head Table, Professor Sprout blushed heavily under the applause.

Dumbledore held up his hands slowly and the room fell silent. “Now, I have just been made aware that we have some additional mouths to feed – please, give a warm welcome back, to your friends and peers!”

Harry spun in his seat, his eyes wide as the large double doors swung open, and Hope walked in, her head held high and a grin on her face. The other students followed in her wake – he recognised Penelope Clearwater, Colin Creevey, Dickon Rivers, Ned Ibex, and finally, his bushy haired friend, _Hermione_.

He leapt out of his seat, scrambling around Neville as he too hurried to get to his feet, and sprinted down the row of benches. All around him were the scrapes and hurried footsteps as friends rushed to greet friends.

Hermione beamed at him, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she rushed toward him. They met somewhere in the middle, and she threw her arms around his shoulders, while he lifted her from the floor, spinning her around once as she laughed in his ear. _Merlin_ , he’d missed that sound.

“You did it, Harry! You _really_ did it!” She laughed as he settled her back on her feet, just as Neville appeared at his shoulder, Daphne and Tracey arriving shortly after. His eyes scanned her face as he leaned back, and her eyes danced in the flickering candlelight – around them, the excited conversations, and joyous laughter filled the air as everyone converged on the freshly revived students.

“Thank you, Harry.” She beamed at him, before she stood on her toes suddenly and kissed him on the cheek shyly, her eyes fluttering.

And with that one simple action, Harry’s mind began to move a mile a minute. It was as if he’d gone his entire life without magic, only to discover it in that moment. The lights of the Great Hall were brighter, the air sweeter, and the weight on his shoulders a little less. In the back of his mind, his magic sang. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

He blinked and grinned down at her – had her eyes always sparkled so much? Had her smile always been so lopsided?

“Thank you so much.” She whispered – it was just the two of them in that moment, the rest of the Hall, and everyone else around them fading away.

“I couldn’t just let Ruhxu take you away now, could I?” He asked, smiling.

“Ah yes, my _gallant_ hero, who goes around fighting Trolls, Dark Wizards, and Basilisks! Whatever will I do with you, hm?” She asked as she wrapped her arms around him once again, burrowing her head into his chest.

He blinked as he looked down at her – had he grown in the last few months? “Whenever you need me, I’ll always be there.” He whispered into her hair; their arms holding the other fiercely. “No matter what.”


	37. Sirius III

A noise escaped from the back of his throat as he rolled over, his legs stretching down the length of the mattress as he burrowed his face further into the soft cotton of his pillow. The cool morning air ghosted across his bare back, and his loose curls tickled his nose.

The bed shifted to his right, and a moment later, the light scratching of fingernails travelling up his spine made him shiver in delight, his mouth twitching as he did. The soft pads of her fingertips followed, and the feathering of gentle kisses that trailed along his shoulder blades almost drove him over the edge.

One of her fingers wrapped a curl around it as she moved her soft lips along the back of his neck and up toward his ear, which she nibbled and whispered sweet nothings into breathily. His eyes snapped open, and he spun, her delighted squeal echoing in the master bedroom as he positioned himself over her.

He pinned her wrists above her head, and his free hand trailed the tantalising curve of her thigh up to her hip bone. Her hair was splayed out on the pillow, like a golden halo of blonde as hazel eyes stared up at him, dark with desire.

Her chest heaved, and he grinned to himself, lowering his own lips to her neck as she arched into him – he could feel everything, with his own weight holding her in place. Every twitch of her stomach, every breath taken, and every tensing of her legs.

She could have thrown him off – after all, there was nobody that got the best of his wife – but in these moments, where she would stare at him with that familiar hunger that had ensnared him so all those years ago, he felt the familiar warmth spread throughout his chest, threatening to undo him before he’d even began.

She gasped into his ear as his lips trailed along the part of her neck that always made her tremble beneath his fingers and grinned victoriously to himself as he felt that familiar shudder beneath him. His thigh was placed between her own, and within moments, she was grinding against him, panting with need as he released her wrists. Her hands immediately threaded themselves into his hair, her nails raking along his scalp until they descended down his back.

He hissed as he felt the skin break, but it brought with it a pleasant tingle. His kisses began to run lower, along her collarbone, and down to the valley between her bare breasts. She writhed beneath him, murmuring his name softly as his own hands ran down the lengths of her thighs – they were soft to the touch, smooth and without a blemish, and corded with taut muscle as they squeezed at his ribs.

His tongue darted out, dancing along her skin lightly, the salty sweetness of her skin an ambrosia to him. She smelled of a million promises fulfilled, and so perfectly like _her_. His teeth pinched at a nub, his tongue darting to lick the pinched flesh before blowing on it softly; she arched into him, moaning his name deliciously.

Her stomach was next, taut, and flat from a career that demanded physical excellence, though personally, he could wait to see it full and round, swollen for the entire world to see. Just the thought of feeling the tiny kicks and feeling the magic of his future child almost brought a tear to his eye.

She squirmed beneath him as his short beard tickled her navel – her breathing was erratic, and her magic thrummed all around her with a heady need, a want that only he could fill. A sense of pride flared in his chest, that he could reduce her to such, and the desire he felt for her grew to almost painful new heights.

He was hers, and she was his.

How long they lost themselves in each other’s bodies, he couldn’t say – only that once they were both fully sated, Sirius felt like he needed to return to his pleasantly interrupted slumber. Perhaps, if he were lucky, she would wake him the same way.

His arm tightened around her shoulders, and he smiled at the finger that absently drew small circles in the small hairs on his chest. The sun shone through the large window, large golden beams filtering through the large panes, and small particles of dust danced about in the air.

His free hand reached down; his calloused fingers gently trailing over the smoothness of her thigh absently as his eyes darted about the room. It was a room at Blackwall that he was still getting used to occupying – _The Lord’s Chamber_.

With the death of Arcturus, he had risen to be the head of one of the most powerful families in Britain – his name commanded respect, and he had more wealth at his fingertips than even his great-grandchildren would be able to make a dent in. Not only that, but he had the most beautiful woman in the world as his wife.

Despite the tragedies of the year, life couldn’t get much better.

He had regrets, of course – Arcturus being the primary one. How many times had he walked into Arcturus’s study, now _his_ study, looking to speak to the man, to ask him his advice or even just to talk to his grandfather? He’d lost count of the number of times he had looked to Arcturus’s empty chair at the table.

Without Amelia, without Remus, he would have been swallowed by his ever-growing grief. Arcturus had been his salvation; he had forged him into the man that he had become. He had been far more rash and stupid in his youth, content to whittle away his holidays at Rosestone Castle with James, Charlus, and Dorea, while Arcturus had been confined to a bed.

He regretted the years lost and treasured the ones with the man after his trial – of raising Harry between them, watching him grow and flourish as only Harry could. Arcturus would be proud of the man that he was becoming – he was the best of all of them; James, Lily, Arcturus, Remus, and himself.

Oh, he would wring his neck the second he returned from school, there was no doubt about that – Harry had thrown himself headfirst into danger, regardless of what could have been waiting for him down there. As it turned out, he had returned safe and sound – exhausted, but alive.

That it had been a near thing was something that still haunted the corners of his mind, the echoing voices of James and Lily terrorising his darkest dreams in the middle of the cold nights. His only salvation was the woman next to him.

She held him while he wept, and she kissed him when he begged forgiveness to those he had long-since outlived, her hands stroking his hair as she tucked his head beneath her chin.

Her thigh moved higher up his body, and he found himself blinking at the sudden movement. He felt her toes brushing through the dark hair of his legs, and listened to her breath deeply through her nose, an almost purring noise ghosting through her lips as she stretched languidly against his side.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced down at her. She tipped her head back and smiled lazily up at him, her eyes still darker than usual.

“Immeasurably.” She purred, craning her head to ghost kisses along his jaw. He chuckled to himself and removed his hand from her thigh to cup her cheek, the pad of his thumb trailing over her cheekbone back and forth as he looked into her eyes. “What is it?” She asked, quietly, leaning into his touch. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” He said after a heartbeat, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. “Everything is perfect.”

“That’s a bold claim.” Amelia answered him with an arched brow, rolling on top of him. The sheet that had, somewhat, preserved their modesty fell away and pooled around his hips. His eyes raked her body hungrily, and as she looked down at him, she smiled smugly as she felt his desire beneath her. She leaned forward, propping herself on her elbows on either side of her.

Her nose brushed his, and he could feel every breath she took on his lips. She captured them slowly and melted into him. She tasted of sweet things, with just the faintest hint of something fruity. A hand worked its way into her hair, it felt like the finest silk.

She pulled away slowly, grinning and biting her bottom lip between white teeth as her eyes sparkled in the morning light. “Good morning, my _lord_.” She purred, peppering his jaw with kisses.

“The best of mornings.” He answered, wrapping a hand around her waist, and pulling her flush against him. She squealed in delight and buried herself in the crook of his neck. He could feel her smile against his skin, even as she trailed soft kisses along it. “What has you in such a good mood today, hm?”

“I can’t simply enjoy my husband?” She murmured between soft kisses. “It is what I keep you around for, after all.”

He chuckled and lightly pinched her arse, earning a yelp and a soft swat to his shoulder. “I’m not complaining, of course. We should wake up like this every morning.”

“You wouldn’t be able to walk.” She hummed, her fingers trailing along his jaw as she kissed him beneath his ear. “What use would you be to me then?”

“ _I_ wouldn’t be able to walk?” He scoffed, looking down at her. “I distinctly remember-“

“Finish that sentence, Sirius Black, and you’ll not be leaving this room with your cock.” She sniffed, tapping him on the cheek with her finger. “I’m not afraid to take away your favourite toy.”

“Yes dear.” He sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re learning – it’s good, in your old age.” She grinned, pushing herself up enough that she could look at him in the eye. “It seems old dogs _can_ learn new tricks.”

“ _Old_?” He sputtered, sitting up as she laughed wonderfully – he pressed his lips together tightly and huffed in indignation. “Old my arse.” He muttered.

“You’d have slept in if it weren’t for me.” She grinned at him, tugging on one of the curls that framed his face lightly.

“I’m pretty sure we _have_ slept in.”

“It’s not even breakfast yet.” She smiled at him, climbing from the bed slowly as she padded her way across the bedroom. Sirius watched her move, his eyes glued to her sensually swaying hips the entire time.

“What time did you get in last night?” He asked, pulling the sheet up to his waist and scratched the back of his head absently. He yawned as she looked over her shoulder and tried to hide it behind the back of his hand.

“Two.” She hummed, opening a set of drawers, and pulling out her underwear. During their courting, when they had grown more than comfortable with one another, Sirius had thought it hilarious to pull a little prank. It was a stupid thing, really, but he’d charmed all of her underwear to be black – for his name, and now hers.

It hadn’t been his smartest prank, nor had it been his most subtle – it had been a little bit of fun between the two of them, that had become a small, private joke that made him smile a little each morning as he’d watch her dress.

“That’s later than normal – is everything okay?” He asked, resting his head against the headboard.

“Better than okay – we finished the mapping yesterday, just before Harry had to go to curfew. I spent some time at the office making sure it was all filed properly and made sure to give everyone that worked on it a small break.”

“That’s generous of you.” He remarked.

“No less than they deserve.” She shrugged. “They all worked long, hard hours. There could have been anything lurking in those tunnels – luckily, our Harry defeated the only thing down there.” She said, fastening her bra.

“ _Our_ Harry – I like the sound of that.” He smiled, his eyes losing focus for a moment.

“I bet you do.” She smiled over her shoulder, turning to face him fully as she approached the bed. “Just you think – someday, there’ll be little ones all of our own running around.”

“He’ll spoil them rotten; you know.” He grinned as he pulled himself from the bed, snatching his discarded pyjamas from the floor and shimmying them up to his hips.

Amelia appeared in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he found his hands playing with the top of her underwear at her hips as she kissed him languidly. “Keep up what you did this morning, and I’ll spoil _you_ rotten.” She grinned, bumping her nose with his playfully.

“I could get used to that.” He smirked, sliding his hands around to her posterior. She gave a contented sigh and kissed him one last time.

“I’ll bet – come on, let’s eat, and then we can get ready for the day.”

“Don’t you have work?” He asked, cocking a brow.

“I have the week off – Nymphadora will keep things in line while I’m gone.” She smiled, picking up her robe and throwing it around her shoulders – it was a thin thing, made of Acromantula Silk, and shimmered a tantalising cream colour in the morning sunlight. She cinched it around her waist and threw him his own.

He shrugged it on with a pout and followed her out the door. Their soft footfalls were the only sounds in the living areas of Blackwall, and his heart lurched a little as they passed Harry’s empty room.

They padded down the stairs slowly – it was a Friday, and in truth, he didn’t have much to do. There was an event at Hogwarts in the evening that they would be attending, as would half of the Ministry and the Press, but until then, there was truly little that required his attention, other than his gorgeous wife.

The sounds of the House Elves working could be heard from the kitchen, and as they wandered into the dining room, Sirius caught Remus sitting in his usual chair with his paper opened in front of him, and spotted Kreacher popping about the table, placing food.

Remus peered over to the doorway, no doubt sensing their presence, or hearing them – or, _Merlin forbid_ , smelling them. “Late start?” He asked, casually.

“Shut it, Moony.” He muttered, levelling the Werewolf with his best glare. Remus, for his part, was content to chortle away as he turned back to his paper.

Sirius pulled out Amelia’s chair for her, and tucked her in, just as he always did, before grabbing a chair for himself. The aromas from the table were simply to die for, and his stomach growled in agreement. He pilfered a pair of warm croissants and layered them with a generous helping of strawberry jam, before leaning back in his chair and moaning happily.

“Where have I heard _that_ noise before?” He heard Remus mutter, and so, Sirius tossed a balled-up napkin at him, despite his quiet chuckles. To his left, he saw the light pink that appeared on Amelia’s cheeks, and suddenly wondering just what it was he hungered for more.

Food, or his wife.

“One day, when you grow up big and strong, you’ll find a pretty witch for yourself.” Sirius nodded solemnly, ignoring the way Remus rolled his eyes as he folded the paper.

“That’ll be the day.”

“I hear Nanette Sprutton is single.” Amelia shrugged innocently.

“She’s one of your Aurors.” Remus sighed, leaning back in his chair, and sipping at his tea. “Taking an interest in the personal lives of those you pay the wages of now, are we, Amelia?”

Amelia shrugged as she took a bite of her toast, and Sirius chuckled to himself. It was a side of the woman he loved that very few ever got to see, but she truly was a romantic at heart. By day, she was the stern, formidable head of the DMLE, tasked with delivering justice to those that broke the law – in private, she was a woman that loved to see people flourish together.

She’d told him – bragged, really – that she was secretly responsible for half of the marriages in her department since she had become an Auror. Everyone needed a hobby.

“I simply give a nudge where I’m needed.” She sniffed, sipping at her orange juice.

Sirius watched Remus as he placed his mug down on the table and interlocked his fingers over his stomach. “Well, I appreciate it, Amelia, but I assure you, I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

Sirius could barely hold in his snort, though when he felt Remus’s amber eyes on him, he recovered quickly and pretended to have had a bit of food go down the wrong way. “I’m fine.” He wheezed, patting his chest.

Remus hummed, and levelled him with a look, but said little else. The food disappeared from the table quickly after that, and eventually, Sirius sat back and gave a mighty stretch, relishing in the way his muscles trembled and the tightness in his back disappeared.

Amelia had finished before him and had contented herself with reading the latest edition of the _Daily Prophet_. She had shifted in her seat, so that one leg was tucked beneath her, and she held her mug of coffee in one hand as she read the articles. He watched as she would scrunch her nose at this article or that or purse her lips at something he couldn’t see.

He glanced over at Remus and smiled wearily – he knew what was coming now. “Alright, lay it on me.” He sighed, shaking his head slowly.

“There’s not much, honestly.” Remus said, pulling out a small notebook and flicking it open. “You’re expected at Hogwarts tonight, as a member of the Board, but you already know that. You’ve had a few bits of mail, nothing too important and I can handle those for you – oh, and House Selwyn has expressed an interest in a meeting.”

“Did he say what for?”

Remus shook his head. “No – something to do with the Wizengamot, I would imagine.”

“Alright, did he give a time?”

“One this afternoon, if that would suit you.” Remus shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Let him know I agree to it – you’ll meet him at the door and take his wand.”

“Of course.”

“That meeting’s going to be a chore, isn’t it?” He sighed, running his hands down his face slowly. Before Remus could open his mouth to say anything, however, the familiar form of Lispy appeared at his side, bouncing from foot to foot with a small envelope in her hands. She disappeared with a small pop as he took it from her small hands.

It was a nondescript one, besides the seal stamped proudly into the red wax on its back – the seal of Hogwarts. His eyes darted up to meet Remus’s across the table, and darted to his left to his wife, who had turned to look at him, her hazel eyes darting between his own and the envelope.

He tore it open quickly, and unfolded the piece of parchment inside, his eyes darting back and forth over the loopy, flowing letters. He frowned a little and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he blew out a sigh. Without looking at her, he handed Amelia the letter and looked at Remus.

“I need you to go to Gringotts at some point today and arrange a meeting to discuss donating more funds to Hogwarts.”

“How much more are we talking?” Remus asked, pulling out his little book and a pencil from the spine. Sirius hadn’t even noticed he’d put it away.

“At least quadruple.” He muttered, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Likely more.”

“Is there something I should know?”

“Well, you’ll definitely be at Hogwarts come September.” Sirius scoffed, glancing at his wife.

“Sirius…” Remus sighed. “I thought we’d talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it – _my_ mind was made up.”

“I’m _not_ a teacher.”

“You tutored Harry for years – right?” Amelia asked, glancing between the two of them. “I don’t know what the problem is; you’re one of the smartest people I know – I’ve had to stop myself from trying to get you into my department once or twice. You’d make a _terrifying_ Auror.”

“I’m a Werewolf, Amelia.” Remus replied, shaking his head sadly. “I can make myself _safe_ here – I can’t promise the same thing at Hogwarts. How do you think the other parents, the other _families_ will react to the news, hm?”

“ _Fuck_ the other families – the most they can really do is complain. This is House Black; we only answer to House Potter and to The Council.” Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“ _Merlin_ , you sound just like you did when we were at school.” Remus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Look, at the end of the day, I’m classed as a dangerous creature – if you weren’t responsible for Harry, would you really like the idea of me teaching your children?”

“You _know_ I wouldn’t give a shit.” Sirius scoffed. “If I gave a damn about everyone’s opinions on Werewolves, we wouldn’t be friends.” He added, waving a finger back and forth between them. He smiled slightly at the little up-tick in the corners of Remus’s mouth.

“Werewolves and Vampires police themselves for the most part – it’s rare we ever get any call-outs.” Amelia added. “Honestly, outside of looking over Harry, this could do a lot for Werewolves everywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Remus asked, looking at her curiously.

“You went to Hogwarts – as far as I know, the only Werewolf to attend the school.”

“Aye, Dumbledore vouched for me himself. My father was a friend, I think.”

“And to _teach_ at one of the most prestigious schools in the world…”

“Would be a boon to Werewolves everywhere.” Sirius finished, glancing between the two of them. “It could really change things.” He muttered, his fingers tapping the table as his mind began to work through the possibilities, weighing the benefits like Arcturus had taught him.

“I don’t know why you’re both so adamant about this…” Remus sighed, picking up his tea once again. Sirius watched him take a long sip, though he noticed the sag in his shoulders as he did so.

What had happened to the boy that he’d known as a child? The one that dreamed of being a teacher, of passing on everything he learned to untold generations of children like him? Remus had always been bookish, and his mind was as sharp as Mithril because of it – regardless of his own desires to have Remus in the school, there was no better teacher that those children could have.

“Because I remember that you always wanted to be a teacher.” Sirius said, softly, smiling at his best friend across the table. “It was all you talked about for the first three years.”

“You did?” Amelia murmured, leaning forward. “I never knew that.”

“I gave up on that dream years ago, and you know that, Sirius.” Remus answered him, placing the tea back on the table. “It was a dream, nothing more.”

“Did the teachers ever treat you differently? No, they gave you the highest marks and made you _Prefect_ – Remus, they _trusted_ you to keep the rest of us in line, even knowing you were a Marauder.”

“That was a different time, Sirius.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

“We were at _war_.”

“With the way things are going, it might not be long until we are again.” Amelia said, slowly. “The rumours coming out of Hogwarts for the last two years are circulating around the Ministry already. Arthur’s department is finding more and more dark artefacts on the market.”

“Weasley? Arthur Weasley?” Sirius frowned, pursing his lips. Amelia nodded, and he blew out a breath. “Look, Remus, at the end of the day, Harry needs somebody on the staff he can turn to if he needs to – there’s nobody at Hogwarts he trusts more than you.”

“It’ll look like you’re trying to influence the students, placing me there.” Remus tried, throwing his arms up. “The other families won’t like it.”

“Aye, they won’t, but they _will_ like the seventy-odd _other_ staff members that will be joining the school alongside you.”

Amelia choked on her drink at his side before picking up the letter she’d placed on the table. “There’s nothing about that in here.” She managed, patting her chest.

“No, that’s just confirmation that Hogwarts will require more funding – _that_ confirmation came two weeks ago.” Sirius grinned. “You were at work.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

“ _Seventy_ -odd…” Remus murmured across from him. Sirius turned to look at him. “How did you manage _that_ one without me knowing?”

“I _am_ a Marauder, Moony.” Sirius answered in a flat voice. “I _can_ be sneaky when I want to be. Besides, we’ve seen this year what can happen with a subject when a teacher is incapacitated – it only makes sense for the classes to be split up, and more teachers on-hand.”

“We’re going to have words later.” Amelia sighed, reaching around the back of his neck, and tugging one of his curls enough to make him wince. “ _Strong_ words.”

“Yes dear.” He grimaced, ignoring Remus’s snickers across from him. “Look, all I did was suggest one or two improvements to the school – there’s less than half that were there when _we_ attended the school. The Board did most of this by themselves – they’ll be conducting interviews throughout the summer.”

“I-“ Remus began, only to be cut off by Sirius raising his hand.

“Your place is already secure.” He said, standing up slowly and making sure his robe was still securely tied around his waist. He stepped around his chair and pressed a kiss to Amelia’s hair. “Besides,” He began, quickly making his way to the door. “You’ll be the Head of the _Defence_ department!”

He scurried from the room, grinning the entire way as he took the stairs two at a time. Remus’s shout followed him, bouncing off of the walls. “ _Sirius_!”

* * *

The high, vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts was bedecked with the banners of all four of the Hogwarts Houses, with Gryffindor and Slytherin in pride of place closest to the raised dais where the Head Table was usually located.

Rows upon rows of chairs had replaced the long, trestle tables and each one was filled by either a student, a member of the Press, or a representative of the Ministry of Magic. He smiled softly as he took in the countless faces staring back at him, young, and full of energy and life.

Without warning, his mind was thrown back to a time when _he_ felt like he had all the energy in the world – there were so many things he had wanted to do, and people he had wanted to do them alongside. How many times had he and James talked about changing the Wizengamot, or of reforming the Ministry?

Ghosts flittered across his vision, as they did every time he stood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts – he saw himself, James, and Remus sat where the Gryffindor table usually was, huddled together, ready to discuss the next great prank.

He could see James, in his mind’s eye, staring slack-jawed across the table where Lily would sit with her friends, pouring over some book or another. Laughter reached his ears, and the teasing words of Remus as they poked fun at the love-struck boy.

Before his eyes, the ghosts grew larger, older, more serious as the world around them changed, darkened. He could remember sitting at the table, after hours, and holding James as he wept for his parents, weeping right alongside his friend – for a man and woman, kind beyond anything anyone could ask for, taken from the world far before their time.

None could understand the grief James and he had shared over the loss of Charlus and Dorea. Charlus had been strong, _powerful_ – a well-built, proud man that inspired those around him. He had been a leader, always speaking softly, but when he did, _everyone_ listened. Dorea had been mischievous, playful, and it hadn’t been a surprise that James had inherited that from her – even Harry had her smile.

There were other images that appeared before him – the many times he had sat with Amelia at the Hufflepuff table, and the many feasts they’d all had as the years ticked by. He smiled to himself privately, his hands clasped before him as he rocked gently back and forth on his heels.

Now, instead of looking up toward the Head Table, with its large, golden throne, and the golden, owl lectern that had far too many candles on it, he was looking down at the room, with over a thousand pairs of eyes blinking up at him.

Cameras clicked and flashed quietly in the background, and to his sides were the Board of Governors of Hogwarts – men and women of all ages, and all walks of life that were trusted to watch over one of the most prestigious schools in the world.

In the past, it was no doubt a position of the utmost trust, and one of immense responsibility – now, it was all about power and influence. After all, how many could say that they had a say in the day-to-day running of _Hogwarts_?

There were a few other noteworthy names on the Board – Augusta Longbottom, for one; a staunch ally of his, and someone that had been almost as affected by the death of Arcturus as the family had as the two of them had put their differences and history to rest. She stood to his left, three members down, resplendent in an ivy-green dress, and, thankfully, without her vulture hat.

There were other names, like Finni, Tatlow, Halliwell, Nash, Dickman, and Furniss, all Noble Families in their own right – though none held the power and influence of Black and Longbottom. The only one on the Board that could have come close was _Malfoy_ , and he’d been removed from the Board the moment his threats had come to light – _that_ had been a satisfying Tuesday afternoon.

Along the far wall were the professors, all standing tall with their hands clasped before them and looking proud – though none looked quite so proud as Minerva, Hope, and Poppy. He smiled down at them and threw a wink in the direction of Minerva; even from where he was, he could see the Deputy Headmistress roll her eyes, though not without her lips twitching as she fought to maintain her stern façade.

There were five students not in the Great Hall – the whole thing had been assembled in their honour, of course, and would be led in by the Headmaster himself – straight down the middle to the dais he was currently on. Along the front row, he spotted Remus and Amelia, both sitting proudly, as well as Andromeda, Ted, and not-so-little-anymore-Dora with her vibrant pink hair.

There were others, of course – Castor and Thalia Greengrass with little Astoria bouncing giddily in her seat, and Oliver and Evelyn Davis; all looking proud as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Sirius didn’t know Tracey’s parents well, but if their little girl was anything to go by, they must be quite the pair.

He smiled to himself as the large doors opened, and the Headmaster appeared – his long, white beard and hair combed neatly, and his lilac robes flowing about his legs. He still wasn’t thrilled with the man, especially after everything that had happened during Harry’s first year, and less than pleased with the fiasco with the _Chamber_ , but appearances had to be maintained.

Dumbledore was a powerful and well-respected man, even if the House he presided over was to go extinct with the deaths of he and his brother – another Ancient and Most Noble House that would fade into history. Even as he walked down the central aisle, with Harry and his friends in tow, heads turned to gaze upon the man that had saved them from Grindelwald’s war.

He tore his eyes from the powerful wizard, and grinned down at Harry, who was paler than normal – his bright emerald eyes darting this way and that as he tried to take everything in. He walked with his back straight, and his shoulders squared – Arcturus would have been proud.

Neville was next – his slightly chubby cheeks, which were less chubby than the last time he’d seen him, were rosy and his eyes constantly darted toward Augusta, which amused Sirius to no end. Augusta was a stern woman, with high hopes for her grandson – he couldn’t imagine constantly being under her watchful eye.

Daphne followed, dressed in a flowing gown with intricate patterns running all along the bodice, skirt, and long sleeves. Her dark hair was arranged in another complicated up-do, with loose ringlets framing her face. He didn’t notice immediately, but there were small gems woven into her hair. Castor and Thalia beamed proudly at their little girl, while Astoria whispered excitedly to her parents.

Tracey was just behind Daphne, also in a dress, though it was less complicated than the Greengrass heirs. Her hair was loose, flowing down her back, and a small, giddy smile was on her face as she waved at her parents, who quickly flashed a camera of their own.

Hermione was the last in the procession, surprising him with her appearance. She was in a dress of her own – a slate blue, sleeveless gown with little white gemstones woven into the bodice. It took him a moment to place why it seemed so familiar, until he remembered Harry describing the dress Daphne had gifted her at Christmas. It suited her, as did her hair falling in soft ringlets around her face. An excited grin flashed in his direction, and he returned it with a quiet chuckle.

The five children took up position on the other side of the dais – they would receive the award from Dumbledore himself, and then they would proceed along the stage, shaking hands with each of the Board, and receiving quiet words of congratulations from each of them. He glanced down at Amelia, who was looking at him with a coquettish smile. He winked down to her.

“Greetings students, faculty, members of the Press, and esteemed representatives from the Ministry of Magic.” Dumbledore began, causing all other noise to vacate the large, vaulted room. Sirius breathed in through his nose nervously and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “It gladdens me to see so many familiar faces among our visitors.”

Dumbledore paused as he looked over the audience. “We are here tonight, to recognise the extraordinary actions of five students in the face of overwhelming odds. As many of you are no doubt aware, we here at Hogwarts operate on a point-based system divided between four separate Houses – these brave young students, have shown such commendable qualities, that to merely offer them points, would be to do them a disservice.”

“While many of you have no doubt heard the rumours, it settles my heart to be able to stand before you all tonight, and assure you, that no such threat will ever befall the halls of Hogwarts ever again. These five students managed to do what none of us _could_ do, and everything that we _should_ have done – ladies and gentlemen, students, members of the Press, it is my honour tonight to reassure you all; _The Chamber of Secrets_ , and the creature within, have been vanquished.”

Applause deafened the room for minutes, and Sirius found himself clapping along with them politely. Unlike many of the Board, and it seemed, many in the Hall, Sirius knew the _truth_ of the _Chamber_ – of who had opened it, and what it had nearly cost to close it.

It had nearly cost his little boy.

Sirius breathed deeply as his eyes flittered about the Hall, darting this way and that as he watched people – student and adult – cheer loudly as cameras flashed here and there amongst the pandemonium. Eventually, it died down.

“Yes, yes, a remarkable achievement for any age, and doubly so for the incredibly young, though, I feel, these are remarkable times we live in. I am an old man, who has seen all sorts of students pass through this very hall we’re all gathered in. Many of our staff, I taught at some point or another; but not once have I ever had the pleasure to meet such fine individuals as these – students who put the wellbeing of others before themselves, with no thought of reward, or recognition.”

Sirius watched as Dumbledore’s mouth twitched beneath his beard, and he held a hand toward Harry and his friends. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our heroes of Hogwarts, Mister Harry Potter,” Dumbledore called as the cheers and applause renewed. “Mister Neville Longbottom, Miss Daphne Greengrass, Miss Tracey Davis, and, finally, Miss Hermione Granger!”

The applause continued for some minutes, and as Sirius peered around his fellow members of the Board, he chuckled merrily at the pink flushes of the children. He caught a flash of light from Andromeda out of the corner of his eye and grinned down at her as she continued to flash the camera happily.

“Now, as some of you may know, to be awarded a Special Award for services to the school, their names will forever go down in the history of Hogwarts, currently kept up to date by the esteemed Miss Bagshot, and an identical plaque will be held in the school in perpetuity to shine as examples to future generations that inside all of us, is the courage and temerity to do great, and wonderful things.”

Dumbledore picked the first plaque off of a small table – Sirius smiled excitedly as the engraved, golden plate caught the candlelight. “Harry Potter, if you could step forth and receive your award.”

Sirius beamed proudly as Harry stepped forward and shook Dumbledore’s hand as he accepted his award – cameras flashed, and Harry’s eyes darted among the crowd, but Sirius couldn’t be prouder of his boy. His chest swelled with pride, and in that moment, he doubted there was anyone who clapped for Harry as enthusiastically as he did.

The Headmaster released Harry, and within moments, Harry was walking down the line of the Board, shaking hands, and nodding politely to each one he came to. When it was his turn, Harry grinned up at him, his eyes dancing in the warm light of the Hall. Before Sirius could say anything, Harry had leapt at him, throwing his arms around his waist.

Sirius could do nothing other than chuckle and return the hug. “Well done, Harry – I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Padfoot.” Harry murmured into his chest, giving him one last mighty squeeze before releasing him.

“Go on, get moving – the others might complain I’m taking up all their allotted Harry time.” He smirked, enjoying the little eye-roll Harry gave him before moving on. Moments later, Neville arrived, and Sirius held out his hand.

“Well done, Neville – you earned this.”

“Thanks, Sirius – still feels a bit weird.”

Sirius chuckled and clasped his hands before him, his eyes quickly glancing over Neville’s head to sweep across the audience. “You’ll get used to it – eventually. Go on, Augusta’s been bragging about you all evening.”

Neville hurried on after that and was soon replaced by Daphne – her arctic eyes peering up at him from behind dark lashes. “My, what have we here? A lady amongst this rabble?”

“Hello, Sirius.” She smirked at him. He pressed his lips tightly together in a feeble attempt to remain straight-faced as he bowed at the waist and kissed her knuckles.

“You’ve done well, Daphne – your parents are incredibly proud.”

“I know.” She smiled, her cheeks taking on a subtle, pinkish hue. “It’s all they’ve talked about since I told them we were getting the awards.”

“And you deserve every second of praise.” He smiled. She offered him a short curtsey and moved on to the next in line.

Tracey bounced up to him a second later, her smile wide and bright, and her face was flushed an adorable red as she curtsied to him – he chuckled and bowed in return. “Well done, Tracey – I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of witch you become.”

“Thanks, Sirius!” She said with a faint giggle – she looked like she was going to say more and bit her lip for the briefest of moments before shooting out her hand. He chuckled, having heard of some of the teasing Harry had given his friend, and quickly brushed his lips against her knuckles. If it were possible, she turned a deeper shade of red and quickly hurried to the next in the line.

As he returned to his full height, Hermione appeared before him, her face beaming with pride and excitement as her brown eyes looked up at him – every now and then, however, her eyes would dart to the right. Sirius followed her gaze and spotted Harry moving down the stairs to a small area where the Press would ask them questions. As Hermione was the last of them, he didn’t mind spending a _little_ more time with her – for research purposes, of course.

“So, I heard a little rumour.” He said as he kissed Hermione’s knuckles lightly. “That you kissed our Harry on the cheek.” He continued, watching as Hermione’s face flushed. “Between the two of us, I think he could do with a little more of your influence.” He added with a wink.

“I-“ She tried, her voice catching in her throat before she cleared it. “We’re going to write each other over the summer.”

“Good luck.” He grinned. “And well done, Hermione – really, well done.”

She nodded quickly, her cheeks a bright pink, and moved to the next in the line, and Sirius took the remaining time to search out Amelia, who, as it turned out, was looking at him in exasperation – honestly, anyone would think she thought him up to something.

As Hermione made her way off of the stage, the members of the Board followed in her wake, accompanied by Dumbledore himself down to the cordoned section of the Hall, while little pops and cracks of the Hogwarts House Elves echoed throughout the room, no doubt offering refreshments to everyone.

The little cordoned area was already overflowing with journalists and photographers, each of them eyeing the children curiously, though none more so than Harry himself, who was awkwardly fending off pre-emptive questions from eager wizards and witches.

As Harry’s guardian, Sirius positioned himself just behind his boy, and gently clasped him on the shoulder – letting him know he was there with him. Harry glanced up at him for a moment and grinned up at him, before the flashes of light made them both wince.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have time for a handful of questions before we get into the rest of the evening.” Dumbledore said, peering over his spectacles at the assembled journalists. “Please choose your questions carefully. Let us begin with the Daily Prophet, hm?”

A woman with shockingly blonde, shoulder-length hair, and the brightest red lipstick that he had ever seen stepped forward, her eyes peered at Harry behind large, jewelled glasses. “Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet.” She smiled, and Sirius counted three golden teeth – he knew who she was: she’d been a thorn in Amelia’s arse for years. “Our readers are curious, as they have a right to be, on whether or not the loss of your parents has fuelled your commendable drive to throw yourself headlong into danger?”

Sirius felt Harry tense beneath his hand, and his own magic trembled to be unleashed on the insolent witch.

“Now, Rita, that was hardly called for.” Dumbledore admonished with a frown. “I think we’ll move on, after that.” He said, gesturing to another journalist quickly.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the blonde woman, who had a scowl on her face and rolled her eyes at the Headmaster of the school – perhaps, once the ceremony was completed, he’d see about reminding _The Daily Prophet_ just what was an appropriate question and what wasn’t.

“Xenophilius Lovegood, for _The Quibbler_ – is it true you’re a Parselmouth, and if so, did that have anything to do with your victory over Salazar’s beast?”

Harry glanced up at him over his shoulder, his eyes unsure – Sirius simply nodded down at him and squeezed his shoulder as reassuringly as he could. Whatever Harry chose to say, he would support him.

“Your brother is Lord Xenophon, correct? And Luna is your daughter?” Harry asked, turning to look at the white-haired wizard – he was willowy, and his hair was wild, untamed. His yellow robes were garishly bright, and it took everything within Sirius not to grimace at the sight.

“She is.” Xenophilius nodded proudly, standing a little taller.

Harry was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “I _am_ a Parselmouth – and it did help, yes, but not nearly as much as my friends. If it weren’t for Hermione Granger, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Neville Longbottom, then I’m sure the school would have been closed by now.”

Sirius smiled proudly as he glanced at Harry’s friends by his side – all blushing at the praise, but standing tall and proud, with their chins raised, and their plaques held tightly in their hands before them.

“Question for the Miss Greengrass, from the _Wizarding Evening Times_!”

* * *

The platform was bustling with activity as the children disembarked from the Hogwarts Express, dragging their trunks along behind them, and in the case of most of them, trying to simultaneously corral their Familiars in whichever direction they were heading in.

Parents, from all walks of life, be they Muggle or Magical, stood patiently, their eyes scanning the crowd of youthful faces carefully in a bid to spot their child, or children, in the case of many of them.

Sirius, Amelia, and Remus remained off to one side, beneath a large archway inset into the large wall behind them – it was an old habit from the war, and one that Sirius didn’t feel like getting rid of, for not only was he scanning the growing crowd for the familiar face of his little boy, but also for any possible danger.

It was the ingrained instinct from his time with Alastor that drove him to be able to see all incoming threats – sometimes, he wondered if he weren’t going as mad as his instructor himself. At his side, Amelia rested her head on his shoulder, and held his hand between both of hers, squeezing it reassuringly every now and then. It helped to ground him, to remind him that he _wasn’t_ fighting a war, and there were likely fewer men and women that wanted to kill him than usual. Wasn’t that a pleasant thought?

Remus was on his other side, thankfully _not_ resting his head on his other shoulder, but instead peering into the crowd with his heightened senses, his amber eyes darting from face to face with such an intensity, that it made Sirius shiver for a moment. The full moon was coming up in just four days, and Remus’s furry little problem was rearing its head.

He spotted Daphne first, though he would be hard-pressed _not_ to spot the Greengrass heiress with her thick, long hair and her elegant dress amongst the rabble that was on the platform. There was a timeless elegance in the young Daphne that he hadn’t come across before – he looked forward to seeing what became of her.

Tracey was close behind her, rushing into the waiting arms of her parents as her father spun her around excitedly, the small Davis family chatting excitedly amongst themselves; he chuckled as he watched Tracey pull her Chinchilla from her jacket pocket and held it up to her parents waiting faces.

Neville was next, ambling toward Augusta without a care in the world as she stood a little ways down from them, her stern eyes sweeping the assembled children and adults around her so severely, there was a small area around here where none ventured. She was a force all unto herself.

He spied Harry and Hermione leaving the train together at the same time Remus did, the two blushing children talking quietly among themselves and sharing small, private smiles with one another.

It was strange, being able to compare Harry, who was so different, yet, at the same time, so _similar_ to his father. There was that same way that he would smile, how one side of his mouth would lift ever so slightly more than the other, and the way his eyes sparkled, even from a distance.

But it wasn’t just that; it was the way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders and the commanding presence as he walked among his peers. Even without doing anything, and with his attention solely focused on the young witch at his side, other students turned to watch him pass, though none said a word.

There was an energy around Harry that Sirius had only ever seen with James. That wasn’t to say there weren’t differences between the two – James had been brash, arrogant in his youth, the same way he himself had been. In hindsight, and on more than one occasion, their playful pranks had pushed the boundaries into bullying. Harry had none of that – yes, he could be an arrogant little lordling, Harry always had his mother’s temperament to balance it out; he was kind, thoughtful, and _hated_ bullies.

Perhaps it had been a result of the ceremony, seeing him standing proudly before the assembly in the Great Hall, or perhaps it was a result of seeing Harry looking so weak, and finding out just how closely he’d come to dying, but he couldn’t help but picture Harry as an adult.

He would be tall – taller than James, even, with broad shoulder and a charming smile for the ladies; James would accept nothing less, and, by extension, neither would he – standards had to be maintained, of course. His already razor-sharp wit would leave the Wizengamot scrambling, and those in the Capitol in envy, and his _magic_ …

Harry was already so incredibly powerful, it left him staring at the canopy of the bed some nights. He could remember all those years ago, sitting with Arcturus as Harry summoned the Phoenix toy to his hand. There were other incredible feats he had performed, of course – such as his meeting with The Council, defeating that Mountain Troll and surviving _Voldemort_ three times already!

There was nothing Harry wouldn’t be able to do in the future – he was sure of it.

Neville and Daphne would be by his side for the rest of his life; Sirius knew that. The three were as close to siblings as was possible – perhaps as close as he and James had been. Would Tracey and Hermione remain at their sides throughout it all? He knew better than most that friendships fade, or, in his personal experience, were obliterated entirely.

Watching as Harry and Hermione walked in their direction, laughing quietly amongst themselves, he liked to think it would survive whatever was to come. With a quiet, amused huff, he wondered just what James and Lily would think of Harry’s friends and the things they had accomplished already – James would be proud as anything; Lily would likely immolate him for letting Harry come so close to danger.

Hermione broke off and hurried to her own parents, who were standing a little down the wall from them, and Harry jogged the rest of the way. Sirius removed himself from Amelia’s gentle grip and swept his boy up into his arms, spinning him happily as he pressed kisses into his dark hair.

“There you are!” He chuckled, placing Harry down on his feet. If it were possible, Harry’s eyes were brighter than he could ever remember, and there was a happy flush to his face as he grinned at him. Sirius cupped his face and pressed his forehead against Harry’s. “You’re home.”

“Not yet I’m not.” Harry grinned, closing his eyes as he breathed in deeply. “When we get to Blackwall I will be.”

“And you won’t have to worry about a thing until September.” Remus chimed in, ruffling Harry’s hair as he drew him into a hug of his own. “Welcome back, Harry.”

“Moony.” Harry sighed, wrapping his arms around the other man. Sirius smiled as Remus smiled softly at the boy in his arms. “I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few days since the ceremony.” Sirius chuckled with a raised eyebrow. “Daphne picking on you that much, is she?”

Harry rolled his eyes with a scoff as he looked up at him. “You know what I mean – it’s good to be away for the summer.”

“The break will do you good.” Remus nodded and patted Harry on the back. “Have you seen Susan?” He asked as the three of them turned back to the alcove – Amelia was gone, likely looking to see where the young girl had wandered off to.

Harry shook his head. “No – barely seen her all year, to be honest. Outside of class, that is.”

Sirius frowned at that. He was well aware of Susan’s absence all year round, and it had been something he and Amelia had discussed at extensive length over the months – suffice to say, Amelia wasn’t at all pleased with her niece either.

“Harry!” A familiar voice called, and he turned to see little Astoria charging toward them, her Familiar close on her heels as she leapt at the boy. Sirius chuckled and steadied Harry as he stumbled backwards, but otherwise let the youngest Greengrass have her moment.

While the two children were talking, his eyes swept the crowd and landed on the familiar head of blonde hair. She was standing with Thomas Abbott, his daughter and heir, Hannah, at his side as she talked with Susan.

He glanced down to look at Harry and Astoria – she was bouncing from foot to foot, while Piper, the black and orange fox, who had grown _considerably_ since the wedding, danced around their feet, panting with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as his bushy tail swept back and forth.

“Astoria!” Castor called, and the young girl cringed before swallowing Harry in another bone-crushing hug that had Sirius wincing – a hurried goodbye later, and the dark-haired girl was back, darting through the crowd around them.

Sirius tracked her with his eyes carefully and waved to Castor when they caught one another’s eyes. “Piper’s grown a bit.” Harry said, drawing his attention. “Hard to believe how small he was at the wedding.”

“He’s still wearing that bow.” Remus chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Do you think the two of them separate for anything?” Sirius asked with a raised brow. He couldn’t imagine one without the other.

“Probably not.” Harry snorted. “Hogwarts won’t know what hit it come September.”

“Hogwarts won’t, or _you_ won’t?” He chuckled, pulling Harrying into his side, and ruffling his loose hair.

“Am I allowed to say both?” Harry asked, glancing up at him briefly, before looking back out into the crowd.

Sirius was content to simply smile as he gave Harry another squeeze, before his eyes darted toward John and Jean Granger, who, he saw, were glancing in their direction as Hermione gesticulated about something or another. “What’s this I hear about you and Hermione writing to one another over the summer?”

Harry tensed beneath his hand, and Sirius had to fight the urge to laugh – something Remus was happy to do; quietly, mind. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, a little witch told me.” He hummed, pursing his lips. “So, going to tell me what it’s all about?”

“We’re going to talk to one another.” Harry shrugged, purposely not looking up at him – Sirius could already see the tips of his ears had gone bright red. “She missed out on a lot, these last few months.”

Sirius watched as Remus nodded solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with humour – he himself had to press his lips tightly together for a tense moment, lest he lose the cool, curious façade. “That’s very good of you, Harry.” Remus said, patting him on the back of the head. “Why don’t you go and say goodbye to her – we’ll stay here and wait for Amelia and Susan.”

“Really?” Harry asked, suspiciously. “Why do I feel like there’s a prank in the works?”

“No prank – Marauder’s honour.” Sirius said, making a cross over his heart with a finger. “Go on – you might not see her for a while.”

Harry nodded and placed his trunk on the floor by his feet. He watched as the young boy took a deep, steadying breath, before making his way over to his friend and her family. The two of them watched him go, and Remus sidled up to him slowly, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his feet. “Twenty Galleons says he’s besotted by fifth year.”

“Thirty says he does something like James did.” Sirius muttered out of the corner of his mouth, smiling, and waving as the Grangers waved at them. “Forty says it’s in sixth year.”

“You’re on.” Remus said, offering his own wave and smile.

“The two of you are up to no good again.” Amelia sighed as she appeared with Susan at her side. Sirius turned and grinned at his wife, holding a hand to his chest. “And thirty says the middle of fourth year.” She added with a mischievous, lopsided smile.

“ _Mischief managed_.” He grinned, quickly kissing his wife on the cheek before smiling down at Susan. “Hello Susan.”

“Lord Black.” She curtsied, politely, her cheeks taking on a similar shade as her hair.

He waved a hand and grimaced. “None of that – please, just call me Sirius, or whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Susan just nodded quickly and pressed her lips tightly together while she shifted her trunk from one hand to another. Not a few moments later, Harry returned, a lazy smile on his face and a light flush to his face, which only deepened when they all turned to look at him.

“I’m uh, I’m ready.” He coughed into his fist, awkwardly as he picked up his trunk. Remus chuckled quietly as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and disappeared with a resounding crack. Sirius could hear Amelia sigh to his side and a familiar crack signalled their departure.

With a crack of his own, Sirius left the platform, and barely a heartbeat later appeared before the front door of Blackwall, where Remus, Harry, Amelia, and Susan were waiting for him – though Harry and Susan looked more than a little queasy.

Before the door, stood proudly in a line, were the House Elves; Milpy, as the Head Elf, was the first on the left, followed by Lispy, Deeny, Woopy, Goldey, and finally Kreacher, with his long, hooked nose and drooped ears.

Lispy was bouncing happily in place, while her fingers worried the flesh of her large ears, and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Sirius grinned and gestured for Harry to go and meet her. The House Elves all crowded around the boy, even Kreacher joined in, though Harry scooped Lispy up in his arms and hugged her for all he was worth – his laugh was worth it, and to see the Elves so happy, regardless of his personal opinions on Kreacher, made his heart swell.

“Welcome back, Lord Black.” Milpy said, bowing toward him. He smiled and offered a short one back.

“It’s good to have everyone home. Can you see to taking their things to their rooms for them?” Sirius asked, and within moments, both Susan and Harry’s trunks were gone. Remus hurried into the house, no doubt to see to something or another before they ate. He glanced at Amelia, who nodded silently at him and steered her niece into the house as well. “Harry.” He called, watching as he put Lispy down and looked at him, confused. “Come on, we need to have a chat.”

“ _Shit_.” He heard Harry mutter as he waved at the Elves. Sirius began walking along the path toward the gardens, and Harry soon appeared at his side, nervously glancing up at him every now and then.

The gardens were filled with the smells of the many plants that were attended to by Goldey – even the large Whomping Willow on the far side was visible over the high hedges that sat just behind the flower beds. The longer they walked in silence, the paler Harry became, until, as they passed a nondescript stone bench, Harry came to a sudden halt.

“Harry?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at him. Harry approached the bench slowly and placed a trembling hand against its surface, breathing in deeply as he did so. “Something wrong?”

“This is where I talked to her.” Harry murmured quietly; his eyes closed. “That night, after the _Chamber_.”

“Lily.” Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked over to him. Sirius clasped Harry on the shoulder and pulled him into his side. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t miss them – but you _have_ to understand, Harry; there’s no way to talk to the dead.”

“I know, I just…”

“I know, pup.” Sirius murmured, placing a soft kiss in Harry’s hair. “Come on – the more we linger, the worse it’ll be to leave, trust me.”

“Can I – can we stay? Just for a minute?” Harry asked, and Sirius smiled down at him sadly, his lips pressed tightly together before he nodded once.

“Just for a minute.” He allowed, watching as Harry’s hands traced the stone slowly. “Have you had similar dreams? You haven’t said anything about them when we’ve talked in the evenings.”

“Not since I woke up with you there. Sometimes I just dream of the night of the wedding – everything was so simple, and it was _fun_.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “I dream about it too – it was a memorable night.” He grinned. “You made me very proud.”

Harry smiled at him but said nothing. After a few seconds, he breathed in deeply and stepped away from the bench, though with obvious reluctance on his face. Harry stepped past the bench and let out a breath, his shoulders sagging from the effort. He placed his arm around Harry’s shoulders as they continued their walk, lazily meandering along the various paths as the gravel crunched beneath their boots.

“You wanted to talk about something.” Harry said, eventually, breaking the silence.

“True.” Sirius smiled slightly, inclining his head. “Is it so wrong of me to enjoy having you here with me again, though?”

“Normally, I’d say no, but I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this, am I?”

He pursed his lips and chuckled to himself, though it lacked any real humour. “Probably not, no.”

“Excellent.” Harry sighed, his shoulders sagging just that little bit more. The two of them rounded one last corner before they came to a halt at the latest addition to the garden, a flower bed dedicated to various Mediterranean flowers, all with large, brightly coloured, and impossibly shaped petals – they were Amelia’s idea; she loved the bold colours and the sweet, tangy scents.

Sirius led Harry to a nearby bench and let out a quiet sigh as he lowered himself onto it. He patted the space next to him, and simply stared at the flower bed for a moment, wondering how best to say what he needed to.

“I’m equal parts proud and disappointed in you this year, Harry.” He said, eventually, deciding to just dive right into it. “You were reckless, arrogant, and foolish. Yet, you showed outstanding bravery, selflessness, and loyalty. I don’t know whether to ground you until you’re twenty or not.”

“I’d rather _not_ be grounded…” He heard Harry mutter to his side, and Sirius had to fight the urge to snort.

“You threw yourself into danger unnecessarily, you trapped yourself in the _Chamber of Secrets_ , and, what’s worse – you nearly _died_ , Harry.” He said, looking at the boy beside him. Harry was staring at the gravel beneath his boots as he toed the small stones. His shoulders were hunched, and he could just make out Harry biting his bottom lip worriedly. “Do you have _any_ idea how worried I’ve been this year?”

Harry shook his head, silently.

Sirius turned to look at him properly. “You’re a child, Harry.”

“I know.” Harry whispered, pressing his lips together tightly.

He breathed in deeply, and pulled Harry into his chest gently, his hand threading through Harry’s hair. “You _have_ to let us do our jobs and look after you, hm?” He felt Harry nod slowly as he let out a breath. _Merlin_ , where was James and Lily when he needed them? His eyes darted to the blue sky, and the handful of white, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily overhead. “No more being the hero. Your punishment will be to have a fun summer – be a teenager. Ride Arlan, play with Clara and Hedwig, invite your friends over. Have _fun_.”

“But-“

“No buts. You’ll deal with the Wizengamot, and one or two other things that I won’t be able to deal with on my own, but that’ll be the extent of it. You hear me?”

“What about Arpton? Are we going there?”

“We will.” He nodded. “And, if I deem that you’d had sufficient fun, and you’ve been enough of a _boy_ , I might even let you train with Felix and Sulyard again.”

Harry bit his lip as he sat up slowly, before nodding his agreement. “Excellent.” Sirius grinned, clapping him on the back. “Now, onto the next thing.”

“There’s _more_?” Harry groaned, running his hands down his face. Sirius couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his lips.

“You’re aware, of course, of how you were treated by your classmates this year?”

Harry nodded reluctantly as his tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously. “What about it?”

“Well – is there anyone you can think of that _should_ have been by your side, that wasn’t?” When Harry shook his head slowly, a confused look on his face, Sirius sighed. “Susan, Harry – she should have been there for you. Amelia’s having a talk with her now; better we get these things out of the way sooner rather than later.”

“But-“

“What did I say about buts? House Bones are allies with both of our Houses – she is closer to House Black because of my marriage to Amelia, but believe me, she should’ve been there for you. There were more than a few that should’ve stood by you.” He grunted, thinking of the various Houses that had children at Hogwarts – there would be consequences for many of them.

“I didn’t expect-“

“No, you didn’t.” He muttered tiredly; idly, he wondered how successful Amelia was being with her niece. “She will grow up here until she’s old enough to take control of the Bones family – she’s my niece after all, that means she’s _family_. I don’t expect the two of you to get on as well as you do with Neville or Daphne, but I want you to _try_ , okay?”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” Harry said, quietly. His voice was soft, barely audible, even in the quiet of the Blackwall grounds.

“If she gets to know you half as well as I do, she’ll love you.” He said, squeezing his boy around the shoulders. “You’re a remarkable person, pup – she’ll see that. You just have to remember to live in the present and stop looking behind you.” He added, flicking Harry on the nose. “It’s your worst habit.”

“I’m trying to get better.” Harry said with a sniff. “It’s just… hard.”

“I know, Harry – _Merlin_ , I know.”


	38. Harry XXV

Arlan nickered happily as he moved the soft-bristled brush along that one spot that the large stallion loved to have brushed. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if he were doomed to be surrounded by animals that loved to be fussed and pampered.

He had spent the better part of the afternoon seeing to his large companion, making sure to brush Arlan down himself, see to his hooves, and condition his coat. The stables of Blackwall were certainly large enough to house the proud horse, and gave Harry plenty of room to work in, but sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if Arlan got lonely.

It had been four days since his return from Hogwarts, and two days since the last Wizengamot meeting – he had spent a little bit of time each day with Arlan, brushing him down, and, likely to his own detriment, fussing over him. It had been something that he had missed during his time at Hogwarts; that quiet, unspoken conversation between the two of them – between horse and rider.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the tumultuous year that had made him finally notice, but as he’d entered the large stables, he’d noticed for the first time just how _empty_ it all was. No doubt, there was a time when it would have been full to capacity, with stallions and mares of all sorts of colours and patterns poking their heads out and making noise.

Now, it was just he and Arlan, a boy and his horse.

He had taken him out for a quick ride earlier in the day, and he’d loved the feeling of being in the saddle once again, of feeling the reins in his hands, and the muscles of the horse beneath him as they galloped along the trails of the grounds.

They had ridden for only an hour, making it down to a small stream in a little wooded area on the far side of Remus’s bunker – it had everything for Arlan; a large, open area that he could get up to full speed, and then a winding path that meandered through the trees once they were beyond the treeline. Harry had laughed and hollered throughout the entire gallop, urging Arlan ever faster. Afterwards, when they had stopped, he had patted the side of his steed’s neck as Arlan drank deeply from the shallow stream and nibbled at clumps of moss and clover.

In the grand scheme of things, it hadn’t been a lot of exercise for the horse, but it had allowed him to work up a sweat and stretch his legs. Arlan had been so covered in dirt afterwards, that he’d almost looked like another horse. The weather had been dry, thankfully, and so at the very least it wasn’t mud.

Arlan, however, had taken every opportunity to cover Harry in as much of the dust and grime that coated him as possible, shoving up against him playfully, but always mindful not to put all of his weight behind it. Harry would grin and pat the horse, and gently shove him back, and so the routine would continue.

He wiped at his forehead with the back of his wrist, watching the creature before him warily – it wouldn’t have been the first time in the day when the horse would get playful when he was distracted. The first had resulted in Harry tripping over a stool and landing in a pile of dried hay.

Harry approached Arlan’s head, cupping it gently with his hands as he scratched him under the chin affectionately, whispering soft words of encouragement as he stared into the large, black eyes. Arlan bobbed his head up and down, his thick, leathery lips trailing over his tunic while his large nostrils blew air at him. He laughed, and placed a soft kiss to his forehead, wrinkling his nose as the short, coarse hair tickled his nose.

A noise behind him made him turn, and Arlan’s nose breathed on his neck playfully. Standing there, in the wide entrance to the stable, was Susan – her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she was clothed in a casual summer dress; it was Egyptian blue and ended just below the knees, a pair of dark, open toed sandals were on her feet. He eyed them dubiously.

“You might want something more than those if you’re coming in here.” He said, pointing to her feet. “There’s all sorts in here – straw, dirt, little pebbles. Wouldn’t want you ruining them.”

“Oh, sorry – I just came to see what you were doing.” Susan replied quietly, fiddling with her fingers absently. “I can come back when you’re not busy…”

“No, no, it’s alright.” He said as she began turning away. “Let me just get him in his stall and – woah!” He cried, jumping forward a bit as Arlan nipped at his loose hair. He patted the nape of his neck, running a hand through his tangled hair as he glared at the horse.

“Everything alright?” She asked, edging into the stables carefully.

“Oh, just fine – he just tried taking a mouthful of my hair, was all.” Harry muttered, grasping the rope he’d tied around a nearby hook and leading the stallion to his spacious stall, all freshly cleaned out with a full trough of cool water and an oat feeder for him to nibble at until tomorrow.

Arlan trotted into the stall without a care in the world, and happily let him remove the rope and the halter, shaking his head quickly before nudging Harry’s shoulder playfully. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving.” He muttered, quickly making his way out of the stall, and bolting it locked.

He placed the halter over a nearby hook, near Arlan’s dark saddle and the other assorted tack, before grabbing a nearby brush and quickly sweeping the worst of the detritus on the floor to the sides. The whole thing took only a few moments, but when there was a sufficiently clear space, he waved Susan in. “Sorry about that,” He said as she stepped into the building properly. “But at least you won’t have to worry about the worst of it now.”

“I’m fairly used to it.” She said, slowly. He watched as her brown eyes flickered around the interior of the squat building – her hands ran along the smooth wood that made up the empty stalls, and she breathed in deeply. “I’ve missed stables.”

“Spent a lot of time in them?” He asked, continuing to sweep the floor around them. He could have used his wand, or his magic, but there was something supremely gratifying about going about the manual labour; the way his lower back would ache slightly, and the light beads of sweat he could feel trickling down the back of his neck to between his shoulders.

“With the Thestrals.” She answered him, quickly picking up the metal bucket with the brushes in and moving it off to the side where he kept the others. “We have a small herd of them at The Ossuary.”

“They’re what pull the carriages at Hogwarts, right?”

“You can see them?” She gasped, blinking at him. “I’m sorry,” She blushed, suddenly. “It was rude to ask.”

“No, it’s fine.” He sighed, straightening, and leaning against the large brush. “I’ve always been able to see the ones at Hogwarts.” He shrugged, picking at the leather grip on the handle absently.

“It’s good to know that someone else can see them, at least.” Susan said, after a pregnant pause. “They used to give me nightmares, but they’re gentle once you get to know them – I like the young ones the best. They’re so curious.” She grinned.

“Aye, they’re not pretty, I suppose. I thought I was going mad in first year.” He scoffed, leaning on the tall beam behind him as he ran his fingers through his hair. It had been a warm July day, with barely a breeze to speak of, and the air felt hot and heavy; it was little wonder he was drenched in sweat.

“Not mad.” Susan smiled cautiously. “Not yet; at least.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Not yet.” He was quiet for a moment as his eyes flickered about Susan – he had seen her about the house a few times following their return from Hogwarts, and each time she had been polite, if a little shy and withdrawn – in fact, it was entirely possible that their current conversation was their longest one ever.

Being a Hufflepuff, Harry had never had much interaction with her outside of class, of course – they sat at different tables, knew different people, and the only real, substantial time he had spent with her previously had been the last summer when she had quietly joined him, Daphne, and Neville after the few Wizengamot sessions he had attended.

He knew truly little about her – in their first year, she had seemed just as in awe of him as the rest of their year had been and it hadn’t sat well with him. He hated to say it, but she had disappeared into the crowd of faces, and he remembered almost nothing, not even from classes.

She had appeared here and there during the last year, though she’d remained with her own friends – Hannah Abbott, Earnest Macmillan, Michael Corner, and Lisa Turpin. With everything that had happened…

“I wanted to apologise.” She said, biting on her bottom lip nervously. He cocked a brow and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “For everything this year, I mean. It wasn’t very nice, and, well, you saved us all.”

“You believed everything that was said.” He sighed, scratching his jaw.

“I did.” She nodded, licking her lips. “And I shouldn’t have.”

He was quiet for a moment as he chewed on his cheek absently. She shifted from foot to foot nervously under his gaze, until finally, he asked, “Are you apologising because you want to, or because of your chat with Amelia?”

“I want to.” She said, immediately – her eyes didn’t flicker, and nothing about her face changed. He peered at her curiously and reached out with his magic, brushing it politely against her own. She gasped as he did and blinked quickly for a moment before brushing against his own in return. She was like nothing he had ever felt before – she was warm, welcoming, and comforting, not unlike the feeling of a favourite warm blanket on a cold winter night. “I – I had no idea.” She murmured, drawing his attention away from her magic. “Everyone at Hogwarts knows how strong you are, but to _feel_ it…”

She stumbled and placed a steadying hand to the wall behind her as her fingertips came to her forehead – he flicked his fingers, and a stool darted across the room to rest just before her; she collapsed in it quickly, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Easy – you look a little lightheaded.” He said from where he remained on the far side of the aisle. “Pretty sure everyone’s reacted like you at some point or another.”

“Even your friends?” She asked, a little colour returning to her cheeks as she took a shaky breath.

“Especially my friends – Tracey nearly spat her drink out of her nose when I first did it in first year.” He grinned, remembering the moment fondly.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why-“

“Why did I reach out to you?” He asked, finishing her question for her. He shrugged. “I like to think our magic is a representation of us in our most basic form – it’s all emotion; our needs and wants. You remember the lesson with Professor Reyne, right?” She nodded. “I’d have been a lot less accepting of your apology if I felt something I didn’t like from your magic.”

She blinked up at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times. “You accept my apology?”

He shrugged. “You’re family, as far as I’m concerned – I’d always have forgiven you one way or another.”

“I haven’t had much family before. It’s always just been me and Auntie Amelia – not many Bones’ left.” She murmured, wrapping her skirt around her knees as she stared at the floor.

“Even less Potters.” He answered with a snort. “But Padfoot, Moony, Amelia, the Tonks’ – even the Elves, they make a pretty good family.”

“Sirius makes me laugh.” She grinned, shyly. “I think that’s why Auntie Amelia likes him so much.”

“He’s been good to me – I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have raised me.” He said, smiling slightly. “They all have.”

“I was sorry about Arcturus, you know.” She said after a moment, as she looked at him. “I didn’t know him very well, but…”

“I appreciate it.” He sniffed, clearing his throat of the uncomfortable tightness that appeared suddenly. “It’s still weird – him not being here.”

“I got used to the quiet at home – it’s a lot more lively here, and he was quite the man.” Susan sighed, rubbing her palms on her legs for a moment. “If you, uh – if you’d ever like to talk about anything…”

“I appreciate the offer.” He said quickly before he pushed himself off of the beam. He leaned the brush up against the wall before offering the girl his hand. “I’m sorry – I’m a bit filthy, but we should head back inside.” He muttered, his eyes darting to the darkening sky; he’d lost track of the time. “It’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh – of course.” She said quickly, smiling kindly at him as she got to her feet – she leaned in a little closer as they meandered their way from the building. “You don’t smell _that_ bad – Hannah’s dorm can smell worse if she’s sprayed too much perfume.”

He chuckled at that, recalling the foul smells of the boy’s rooms he was connected to – there was a reason he always tried to go to the bathroom first thing in a morning. “I’ll raise you a Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley.”

She scrunched her nose out of the corner of his eye at that. “Ron’s appetite is legendary even in Hufflepuff – how do you put up with it?”

“Quick hands.” He shrugged. “Grab what you want quickly or sit nowhere near him. Either works, honestly.”

“I don’t know _what_ I’d have done if he were in Hufflepuff, or, _Gods forbid_ , I ended up in Gryffindor!” She cried as they reached the back door – he laughed as he opened it for her and allowed her through first.

“Nothing wrong with us Lions.” He grinned.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and tapped her chin with a finger, her eyes twinkling as they made their way through the house. “Oh, I don’t know – Longbottom is quite nice.” She grinned wolfishly. Her voice lowered to a whisper, before she added. “Don’t tell anyone, but Hannah thinks he’s quite handsome.”

Harry snorted as he paused at the bottom of the stairs – his room and a nice, warm shower called to him, as well as a fresh change of clothes. “I won’t tell a soul.” He swore. “Hannah’s nice, from everything I’ve heard – it’d be a good match.”

Susan shrugged non-committedly. “I don’t know anything about a match, but Hogsmeade is coming up this year – I think she’s more concerned about that. What about you – you’re always surrounded by girls; anything Sirius should be worried about?” She asked, playfully, and Harry had to fight off the intense blush that he felt burning in his cheeks. “Aha! I _knew_ it!”

“There’s nothing to know.” He stuttered, puffing his chest out indignantly. “Davis, Greengrass, and Hermione are my friends.”

“ _Hermione_?”

“Oh, piss off.” He muttered, turning, and hurrying up the stairs, to Susan’s giggles. When he reached the last step, he glanced over his shoulder and called, “If Sirius hears a _word_ …”

With a smirk on her face, and her dark eyes looking up at him mischievously from the bottom of the staircase, Susan made a quick cross over her heart and rolled her eyes playfully.

He rolled his own in return and hurried the rest of the way to his bedroom, his mind already abuzz with the memories of his brown-eyed, bookish friend. They had spent so much time talking and catching up on all sorts of things after she had been revived that it was impossible _not_ to think about her.

As he entered his room and palmed a set of clean clothes and a towel, Harry’s fingers drifted over the place on his cheek where she had kissed him – it had been soft, quick, no more than a peck, really. Perhaps he had read far too much into it than was meant, but it had thrown him off kilter ever since.

It was as if she had electrified his entire body – his stomach would twist and tie itself in knots when she smiled at him, and he’d find himself seeking reasons to hold her hand or position himself so she could rest against him. She had always made him want to be better, but now, he found himself wanting to _prove_ how much better he was – the trouble was, it was a little hard to top defeating a Basilisk.

As he stripped out of his filthy clothes, with more than a handful of pieces of straw coming loose in the process, and finally under the water, he couldn’t help but recall the dozen or more times he’d tried to say something to her, only for his words to catch in his throat as she looked at him.

She would smile, and there were little things he hadn’t noticed before that were suddenly glaringly obvious. Like how her tongue would push up against the back of her teeth when she grinned at him, or the way her shoulders would rise as her nose crinkled when she smiled.

It had left him scrambling – he’d thought of mentioning it to Neville, or Daphne, or _Merlin_ forgive him, Tracey. He hadn’t spoken to anyone; some small, private, part of him revelled in everything he was discovering about Hermione – it was like opening his favourite book, and finding a chapter he’d missed, or forgotten about.

He scrubbed at his scalp with the tips of his fingers, and nearly moaned aloud as he could feel the aches of the day melt away. Hermione had also been acting a little differently, in truth. She looked in his direction more, and, when they were alone, she would brush her magic against his own – she was like nothing he had ever felt before.

They had felt each other’s magic before – they’d done so in class in first year; it had been one of the many exercises they completed in _Introduction to Magic_ , but there was something about _hers_ that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

She felt sturdy, solid, even – like a mountain standing against the most vicious gale. He’d told her as much, and he’d not been able to hide his amusement as he watched her try to work it out in her head – she’d thrown no less than _four_ pillows at him.

He smiled as he rinsed the suds from his hair, pushing it off of his face as he gave it one last scrub under the warm, relaxing water. That had been their last night in the castle, before returning to London.

Already, the absence of not just Hermione, but the rest of his friends had left him stumbling – he was still so used to going down to the Great Hall, eating with them and hearing what each of them had to say. Blackwall was his home, but he found himself _yearning_ for September to hurry up.

A knock on his door had him switching the shower off and summoning the towel to his outstretched hand. “Yes?”

“Harry – dinner is almost ready.” Amelia called through the door.

“I’ll be right there.” He hollered back, rubbing his hair with the towel as he padded across the room – his filthy clothes were already gone, no doubt the work of Lispy, who had taken it upon herself to see to his every need like he was little again. It made his heart feel twice its normal size, having her look for any reason to fuss over him. He was the luckiest wizard alive.

He dressed quickly, throwing his clothes on – his wand lay in the holster that he’d peeled from his arm; it cleaned itself, which was something he was unimaginably delighted about – he’d have hated to have had that shower for nothing. A flick of his wrist, and a handful of simple charms later, and his hair was dry and neat.

He hurried from the room, making sure to place his used towel in the hamper outside his bathroom, and jogged down the stairs to the dining room. Sirius, Amelia, and Susan were already seated at the table, waiting for him, and Harry smiled sadly at the absence of Moony, no doubt locked securely in his bunker with enough meat to keep him satisfied during the night.

Harry slid into his usual chair and smiled at everyone – he sat opposite Susan, with Amelia opposite Sirius, who was on Harry’s right. Within moments, plates of large, smoked salmon steaks with flakes of red chilli and half a dozen herbs sat on the table before him, with a generous helping of vegetables and a nice, creamy white sauce.

It smelled wonderful, and he could barely remember to mind his manners as he quickly loaded up a forkful and moaned as the flavours danced on his tongue – it was, frankly, _divine_. He looked around at the three pairs of eyes looking at him and felt himself blush. “Sorry.” He muttered, swallowing his mouthful. “I was really hungry.”

“Worked up an appetite with Arlan?” Sirius chuckled, nudging him with his elbow playfully. “Where did you go today?”

“You know the stream about twenty minutes behind Remus’s bunker? Just there and back – I had to give him a full wash-down, though.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more handsome horse.” Susan offered with a smile. “I went out to see Harry and caught him just as he was finishing up.” She added, glancing between Sirius and Amelia, both adults with curious looks on their faces. “We talked.”

“That’s wonderful.” Amelia smiled as she took a sip of her drink. “Talk about anything in particular?”

“Family.” Harry answered, smiling as Sirius clapped him on the back proudly. Amelia beamed at him from across the table, and Susan smiled at him.

The four of them ate in silence after that, and not a word was spoken until the last clatter of cutlery on the plates rang out in the room, all of them leaning back in their chairs with content smiles on their faces. Despite everything, Harry felt his eyes grow heavy, despite the early hour, and stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand.

“I’m going to be ruined if I eat more meals as good as that.” Sirius groaned, stretching, and running his hands through his hair, which, for a change, was loose. Harry chuckled quietly.

“What’s better – here or Hogwarts?” He asked, looking up at the Marauder with a smirk.

“Oh, here – it’s not even a competition.” Sirius scoffed, resting his arms on the varnished table, and gently interlocking his fingers with Amelia’s. “Couldn’t ask for better food or company. Shame Moony’s out tonight.”

“He’ll be back tomorrow.” Amelia smiled sympathetically, just before a long, mournful howl could be heard from outside – it was barely audible, thanks to the closed windows and doors of the house, but it could be heard, nonetheless.

“Right – onto far more cheerful topics, I believe the two of you have some work to do tomorrow.” Sirius said, waving a finger between himself and Susan. The two of them glanced at each other, confused.

“We do?” Susan asked, tipping her head to the side.

“Yep.” Sirius said, popping the end of the word. “Harry, you’ve got a summons from Gringotts and the Dwarves – both are interested in that Basilisk of yours.”

“But-“ He tried, blinking.

“And you,” Sirius said, interrupting his godson and looking pointedly at Susan. “Have a birthday to plan.”

* * *

The underground carpark in the middle of Nottingham City Centre was a strange and new experience to Harry. He had been underground a number of times in his life, most notably in the last five years for various reasons – be they visiting the tombs and statues of his parents, surviving deadly obstacles by the skin of his teeth, or, in his latest experience, defeating a creature that had lived for a thousand years beneath his beloved school.

The air was frigid, and damp against his nose. The busy sounds of the streets outside, and the dull pitter patter of the rain the only accompaniment to the clicking of his and Sirius’s heels along the concrete floor.

On the far side of the carpark, a car roared to life, its throaty engine impossibly loud within the darkened confines of the structure. The squealing of tyres made him wince, and he had to physically keep himself from clutching his ears at the sudden noise.

He glanced up at the low ceiling – it was one of the lowest ceilings he’d ever seen; so low was it, that Sirius could raise his arm above his head and not even stretch it fully to put his palm flat on the concrete. Everything was a dull grey colour, with bold, bright colours designating specific areas, and neat, white lines indicating bays for large, boxy cars.

The cars came in a variety of colours, from the boldest blue, to the richest reds – he even spotted one garishly yellow vehicle that made the backs of his eyes hurt with its brightness. All were empty and lifeless, content to sit there until their owners returned from whatever task they needed to accomplish in the busy Monday afternoon.

He remained glued to Sirius’s side, striding along to their designated meeting place with his shoulders squared, and his chin held high – he’d never had official dealings with either species, of course – after all, he was still a minor, and hadn’t come into his lands and titles yet.

The Goblins were the premiere bankers in their world – regardless of whatever happened at the end of this meeting, he would no doubt have dealings with them until the day he died. From his many lessons over the years, he knew the Goblins appreciated straightforwardness, honesty, and a sharp mind.

The Dwarves, in comparison, were far less intimidating – they kept to themselves, mostly; content to remain in their mountains, and underground cities and mines, creating wonderful items for trade with wizards and witches. Indeed, there were many Dwarven items within the Potter Vaults, at Rosestone, _and_ at Arpton. Dwarves were a blunt people and bound by honour – there was a quote that often came to mind whenever he met a Dwarf; _Be they friend or foe, none could cry woe when the Children of the Stone gave their word_.

He’d been nervous all morning about the meeting – more-so on account of accidentally offending the Goblins, than the Dwarves. Goblins, while terrifying bankers, were notoriously easy to offend. That was the _last_ thing he wanted.

Now, however, walking under the hanging lights that would flicker and die as they passed beneath them, Harry felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. He hesitated to make the comparison, but it wasn’t lost on him that it was the same, morbid peace that had washed over him just before the fight with Ruhxu began.

“Relax.” Sirius chuckled as they passed beneath another light, hiding them from everyone else in the carpark – it wasn’t intentional, of course; magic simply didn’t react well with Muggle electronics. “You look like you’re walking to your death.” He chuckled, as if reading his morbid, fatalist thoughts.

“It feels like I am – I’d rather not get beheaded for saying the wrong thing.” He sniffed, adjusting the sleeve of his doublet beneath his dark cloak. Sirius was similarly dressed, as was befitting an official meeting with both the Goblins and Dwarves.

“They won’t do a thing.” Sirius continued chuckling, clapping him on the back gently. “You hold all of the cards in this meeting – they want what _you_ have. If it helps, they _know_ they won’t get anywhere by killing you, no matter how much they want that snake.”

“Oh, well, now I feel wonderful – _thanks_ Padfoot.” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes as they moved toward a darkened corner that seemed to swallow all the nearby light, the faintest hint of _something_ glinted in the darkness as he stared at it.

A few steps later, and they stepped through a wall of shimmering magic – there was a brief moment of resistance, almost like walking through a large vat of jelly, and then there was nothing. They were in an abandoned corner of the carpark, with no cars parked anywhere near, and illuminated entirely by small, floating balls of white light.

He glanced at the beings that had been waiting for their arrival – there was a well-dressed Goblin, garbed in a fine three-piece black suit and tie; his black eyes stared at him unblinkingly. Its nose was large and hooked, with pointed ears that rose above its head, and its face was set into a vicious looking grin – there were a lot of sharp pointed teeth for a creature that was so small.

Small or not, the two beings stood at attention behind each shoulder made him swallow nervously. He’d only read the stories of the Goblin Rebellions, and even then, the only texts available were from wizards that had written the accounts long-after the fact, but he recognised the Goblin Warriors clear as day.

Their armour was a golden bronze and covered in all sorts of intricate runes that he didn’t recognise. They had blue sashes around their waists, and the plate-armour, which hid every last inch of them, including full-face helmets that even hid their dark eyes from him – clanked with every slight movement they made. In their hands were vicious-looking halberds, with sharpened spikes that glinted in the light.

By comparison, the Dwarves were similarly dressed, though their armour was much more muted in colour. All three Dwarves wore large, thick plate armour completed by helms that covered their faces, the nearest of the three dwarves remained unhelmmed. He had thick, geometric patterns tattooed in dark ink running along the contours of his face, and his thick, bushy black beard hung down in neat braids to just below his breastplate – there was no hair on the top of his head, just more geometric tattoos.

The Dwarf, unlike the Goblin he was next to, grinned happily at the sight of him, and spread his arms wide, his dark steel armour almost blending in with the shadows. “Would you look at this, lads – the _utholi_ that slew the Basilisk!”

“Master Dwarf.” Harry said, bowing politely to him, causing the Dwarf to chuckle merrily. “An honour.”

“An’ he knows his manners – I _like_ this human.” The Dwarf grinned. “My name is Jagar Almote, son of Thaukel – with me are Gegan Rulney, son of Seweka, and Mertigen Galmas, son of Dourkin.” He said, hooking a thumb at first the guard on the left, and the one on the right – both nodded silently at him, to which he nodded back.

“And I am Duird, Executive Broker of Gringotts, acting on behalf of the Wizarding Bank of Gringotts. With me are warriors Odel and Roirx.” Duird announced, though he only inclined his head the slightest fraction.

“I’m honoured to meet you all – I’m Harry, son of James and Lily of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. With me is my Guardian and Regent, Sirius, son of Orion and Walburga, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.” The two of them bowed politely and clasped their hands before them at the waist.

“Now, both parties understand that the sale of this Basilisk is entirely dependent on Heir Potter’s decision, and that there are to be no drawn weapons while the negotiations are underway?” Sirius asked, looking specifically at the guards that had accompanied the representatives. Harry fought the urge to grin as the guards glanced at one another before slowly nodding their agreement.

“Excellent – now, I’ve not had the remains valued, but I understand this is the largest in recorded history, at over twice the recorded length of the last Basilisk sold, some two-hundred-years ago. As such, I’ve been informed on the market value of _that_ sale, with the adjustment for the modern market, I believe we have a price that would be agreeable to all.” Harry said, falling into the lessons that Arcturus had drilled into him – to be sure of himself, to speak with absolute conviction, and not allow the slightest _hint_ of weakness to show.

He pulled a piece of parchment out of a small pouch from his belt and unfolded it quickly, handing it to first Jagar, who glanced over it quickly, nodding to himself, before passing it onto Duird.

“This is acceptable.” Duird nodded curtly, handing the parchment back to him quickly. “While we would wish to value it ourselves, I feel this is a reasonable bracket to work within.”

“Very well – now, both of your peoples have expressed interest in the carcass. Why should I agree to sell to one of you over the other?” Harry asked, tucking the parchment back into his belt as he looked between the two representatives.

“House Potter is an old and valued client of Gringotts – I’m sure there are many things we could offer; lower interest on loans, a reduced percentage for goods and services – perhaps even some Goblin-forged items of your choosing.” Duird grinned, clasping his long, thin fingers at the small of his back, his wickedly sharp teeth glinting in the pale light.

“We can offer property within any of our cities – better rates on trade between your House and my people; discount on Mithril stock. I’ve also been informed that regardless of your choice today, your name shall be etched into _The Stone_ for your achievements.” Jagar nodded, standing a little taller. “Every Dwarf shall know your name when they learn of the history of the world.”

Harry blinked, taken aback as he felt the air rush from his lungs. He felt Sirius’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he swayed slightly. “I’m sorry?”

Jagar laughed – it was a deep sound, like the grinding of boulders against one another, and the quiet chuckles of the two that had accompanied him joined in quickly. “You’re an _utholi_ , Lord – a child. You slew the largest Basilisk ever recorded – you have our respect.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Harry murmured, bowing his head, and placing his hand over his heart. “You honour me.”

Jagar smiled kindly through his beard, the thick, dark lines on his cheeks crinkling. Duird cleared his throat politely, and Harry’s eyes darted back to the Goblin. “It should be mentioned that Gringotts, and by extension, my people, are also similarly impressed, however, this is business – I think it prudent if we return to the matter at hand?”

“Of course.” Harry nodded. “Excuse me.”

“There is nothing to forgive – however, you have heard our offers; I suspect you have conditions, regardless of which offer you choose to accept?”

“I do.” Harry nodded, glancing at Sirius, who silently withdrew a small piece of parchment and handed it to him – he didn’t miss the proud glint in his eye, either. Harry fought the urge to grin. “House Potter requires ten litres of the venom for its own personal use, and twenty metres of its hide, again, for its own personal use.”

“These are acceptable terms.” Jagar nodded.

“Actually, House Black has a condition of its own as well.” Sirius announced, and Harry looked at him sharply – he didn’t like the mischievous look on Sirius’s face. “House Black requires the skull – jaw, fangs, and teeth included.”

“That’s _outrageous_!” Druid snapped, angrily.

“It will not be sold, and you have my word that it will never find its way onto the market while myself, or Heir Potter live.” Sirius continued, his voice even. “It will be mounted in House Potter’s ancestral home, as a trophy.”

Harry blinked, his mouth opening and closing. “Sirius…” He whispered, stunned. “That’s too much.”

“It is your right – you killed the creature.” Sirius nodded; his lips pressed together into a tight smile. “Let me do this.” Harry could only nod numbly.

“My people have no issue.” Jagar nodded.

“House _Black_ are not in a position to bargain over a creature they did not defeat.” Duird scowled; his black eyes growing, somehow, even darker. “Gringotts does not recognise this demand.”

“Then it is one of mine.” Harry snapped, scowling at the Goblin across from him. “I gave it no thought, because I have no interest in trophies – _however_ , I trust my _Regent_ to suggest what he thinks is in my best interests.”

Duird glared at him, and Harry could see his chest heave beneath his smart suit, and how his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Very well.” He said, eventually. “Gringotts recognises the additional demand of House _Potter_.”

“Wonderful – now, have either of you anything final to say before I make my decision? I understand the sooner the carcass is rendered, the more money we can all make.” Harry said, glancing between the two negotiators; both shook their heads silently. “In that case, I believe it in my best interest to move forward with Gringotts, though I expect to have the skull, teeth, and jaw visiting the Dwarven city of _Vemfaldur_ , beneath Snowden.”

“This is acceptable to my people, Heir Potter.” Jagar bowed, his beard dangling away from his armour for a moment until he straightened once again. “I assume you’ll want it treated with the appropriate runes and reinforced?”

“Aye.” He nodded.

“Then we’ll see it done – it’ll be an honour to the craftsmen. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave to see to the arrangements. An honour, once again, _utholi_.” Jagar nodded, thumping a fist against his breast before he disappeared with a resounding crack. Harry’s eyes trailed to the remaining Goblins.

“You have made a most wise decision, Heir Potter.” Duird grinned smugly, waving a hand just as a piece of parchment materialised between his fingers. “Please visit Gringotts in London at your earliest convenience to sign the papers – I shall leave now to make sure the appropriate,” Duird paused, narrowing his eyes at Sirius. “ _adjustments_ are made to the contracts.”

A moment later, once Harry had palmed the offered parchment, Duird too, was gone, with only a crack to signal his departure, the balls of white light faded, and Harry felt the barrier between themselves and the rest of the carpark fall. While during their meeting, the rest of the underground structure had been muffled and distant, now, it was back to its regular volume.

He glanced at Sirius, and gave him a withering glare, his fingers trailing over the crisp parchment in his fingers. “You could have really put us in trouble there.”

Sirius scoffed, waving a hand absently. “Not likely. Either of us could finance the rendering of the carcass without so much as a dent in our daily profits as it is. They wanted the carcass – you’ll not make as much as you would have if you did it yourself, but this way, you have less to worry about and manage.”

“Why did you want me to have the skull? I can’t imagine it was just to mount at Rosestone.”

“Who said anything about Rosestone?” Sirius asked, eyeing him curiously. “It’ll be mounted at _Arpton_ in the Trophy Room – as a reminder of your power and prestige.”

He frowned as Sirius held out his arm, which Harry grasped without thinking. There was a familiar sensation of weightlessness, and a sudden bout of vertigo, but it passed quickly, and they found themselves standing in Diagon Alley, where wizards and witches passed them without a thought. “I don’t need to remind people of that – besides, it’s bad enough I had to face her coming at me the first time; how am I supposed to eat with her skull watching me?” He grunted, shaking his head slightly as the lingering effects of the side-along disappeared.

“You’ll get used to it.” Sirius chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s always good to remind your enemies _and_ your allies what you can do. That way, nobody gets any stupid ideas.”

“People get stupid ideas regardless – just look at how I ended up down _there_ in the first place.” He muttered, setting off toward Gringotts – the white building clearly visible with its large pillars and grand front entrance; a pair of Goblin guards were at attention on either side of the large doors, though neither of them wore the intimidating armour of those he’d just met.

The two of them meandered down the street at a sedate pace, peering into shop windows and enjoying the _much_ better weather of London. All around them, the voices of hundreds of men and women reached his ears, and children sprinted past him, brushing against his arms.

It felt strange, walking through Diagon without his armour – he had no spare pieces, and he wouldn’t be able to get it replaced until he next visited Arpton. In a way, he felt naked, _vulnerable_ in only a dark doublet and his cloak. He paused at a side street – it was just as bust as Diagon, but it was the name that gave him pause.

 _Canlams Plaza_.

A memory from earlier in the year wormed its way to the front of his mind, of a time before he’d battled the Basilisk, and he’d been content visiting a friend in the hospital, while he traded pleasant conversation with a man across the bed. Sirius looked at him strangely.

“Harry?”

“You said I need less responsibility, right?” He asked, looking at the man before peering into the street itself. “I’d still have to handle the exchange of money from Gringotts?”

“Aye, you’re the one they’re buying it from – why?”

“I’ve got an idea.” He muttered, marching into the street. Canlams Plaza was a short street that opened into a large square with a small green area, about the size of a Quidditch Pitch, in the middle – there were large, ancient looking trees that stretched up into the sky, almost taller than the buildings that surrounded them, and a great fountain in the middle. There were benches, small paths, and flower beds dotted throughout it, but it was what _surrounded_ it that interested him.

Canlams Plaza was most notably known for its many restaurants and cafés, many of them offering outdoor seating for customers to enjoy the weather. There were other premises, vendors of varying products and services, but it was one in particular he was looking for.

His eyes scanned the signs as he pursed his lips, running his tongue along the back of his teeth. The plaza was busy, with dozens upon dozens of families meandering about in the comfortable sunshine – he finally caught sight of the small, subtle sign between a pair of chatting parents. He hurried over to the glossy, dark blue door, Sirius hot on his heels, and knocked loudly.

There was the muffled sound of footsteps on a hardwood floor, the click of the door, and he was greeted with the sight of a young wizard – perhaps only two or three years out of school, in a light grey three-piece suit. His hard was dark, and styled short and neat, with just the barest hint of stubble along his chin. “Williams and Mattingly – how can we help you today?” He said, pleasantly, though Harry noted how he was looking to Sirius, rather than himself.

“Is Wesley Williams available?” He asked, squaring his shoulders as he looked up at the young man.

“Possibly – he could be in a meeting right now, but I’ll check. If you’ll follow me, Messrs…” The young man trailed off, leading them into the building. Harry went first, shrugging his cloak from his shoulders easily, while Sirius shut the door behind him.

“Potter.” Harry answered, watching as the young man’s eyes widened almost comically. “And Black.”

“Of course, My Lords, I-I’ll get him right a-away.” He stammered, hurrying down the corridor. Harry smirked over his shoulder at Sirius, who barely hid his own chuckle. It had been a little petty of him, but _Gods_ it had felt good after being dismissed out of hand.

The two of them made their way down to a comfortable waiting area, where the receptionist, whose large, blue eyes, stared at them in shock as they took their seats. Harry chuckled quietly and leaned back in his chair – the Wireless played softly in the background, and the scratching of the receptionist’s quill against the parchment stopped and started erratically. Beyond the white door on the far side of the room, there were muffled voices of men and women, and some hurried banging every few seconds.

The door was thrown open after almost a minute, and Wesley appeared – his cheeks were tinged red, but his smile was wide and genuine. His blue eyes were dark, almost smouldering in their intensity as he looked at the two of them. Harry glanced at Sirius and nodded.

“Harry! Good to see you – what brings you here? Not any more trouble with Hope?” Wesley asked, striding over to them, and offering the two of them his hand.

He shook it confidently and waited for Sirius to do the same. “I’d like to hire your services, or anyone you trust to do the job, for a few days.”

“Oh, this is a work visit? _Gods_ , you gave me a scare.” Wesley breathed, chuckling as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“He has a habit of doing that.” Sirius grinned. “We didn’t pull you out of a meeting, I hope?”

“Oh no, that finished early. Come on, we’ll talk in my office.” Wesley smiled, gesturing for the two of them to follow him. He led the way through the door, and immediately Harry was greeted with a dozen pairs of eyes staring at him.

Men and women peered at him from behind stacks of parchment, their eyes trailing him silently as they moved past them all. There were stacks almost as tall as himself, but there was an organisation to the chaos that fascinated him. He offered polite smiles to those he passed.

The three of them entered a small office – there was a bookcase that lined one wall, full to bursting with volume after volume, a modest desk, and a pair of plush chairs. “Please, sit.” Wesley smiled, sinking into his own leather one on the far side. There was a soft bark, and a Beagle darted out from behind the desk and sniffed at Harry’s fingertips as he lowered himself. “Don’t mind Mattingly – he just likes the attention.”

Harry grinned as he rubbed the panting canine behind the ears, leaning forward to rub his belly as he flopped on his back. “It’s no problem. He’s beautiful.”

“You’ve done it now – he’ll be smug about it all week. So, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve made a sale – a big one – and I thought it best to hire a third-party to check everything over in the contract at Gringotts before I sign.”

Wesley blinked and looked back and forth between himself and Sirius. “Of course – that wouldn’t be a problem at all. Can I ask how big the transaction is? I only ask because it’d limit who I can put on it.”

“Basilisk sized.” Sirius chuckled, crossing his legs, and reclining in his own chair. Harry rolled his eyes at his smug smile. Wesley blinked for a few seconds.

“You sold it?” He asked, eventually.

“In the process of it, but yeah.” Harry shrugged, scratching Mattingly under his chin – the Beagle’s tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. “Aren’t you a good boy?” He whispered, patting his belly.

Wesley fell back in his chair, the leather creaking quietly as he looked between the two of them. “I… I’ll do it myself.” He said after a moment, clearing his throat. “It’s the least I can do, after everything – and it feels right.”

“I was hoping you’d say that – how do you feel about joining us at Gringotts?”

“What, now?”

“We were on our way there when we were passing Canlams.” Harry grinned. “I remembered you telling me your company was here a few months ago.”

“Sure, let me just get my briefcase!” Wesley nodded, standing quickly, and placing a square, black briefcase with bronze-gold clasps on the table between them. Harry watched in silence as Wesley flicked through a handful of sheets, selecting those that must have been relevant in some fashion, and then quickly placed them in – the briefcase closed with a _snick_ -ing sound, and he smiled at the man across from him when he looked back up from the desk.

“Ready?” Sirius asked, pleasantly. Harry got to his feet a second after Sirius and followed him to the door; there was a quiet noise of protest from Mattingly that caused him to glance over his shoulder at the pitiful-looking Beagle.

“No, you stay here – I’ll be back soon.” Wesley admonished with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll bring you something back if you behave.”

The door clicked shut behind them, and they quickly marched through the open office, past reception, and back out the door – he and Sirius quickly shrugged their cloaks back on, while Wesley threw on his grey suit jacket. “So, anything I should know?” Wesley asked as they began their short walk to Gringotts.

“Nothing much – it was all rather straightforward and dull, to be honest.” Sirius sighed. “There are a few parts that House Potter will keep hold of, but everything else should be handled by Gringotts.”

“In my first year,” Harry began, his eyes darting between the two wizards. “I got a Christmas gift from the Headmaster – a cloak that had belonged to my father. He said the contract had been written up by the Law Goblins; I’d rather not get tripped up over anything.”

“Smart.” Wesley nodded, and when Harry glanced at Sirius, he saw that same proud glint in his eye that made his chest puff out that little bit more. “They’re true to their word but expect them to try and pull _something_ – it’s all rather fun, when you get down into the nitty-gritty of contract negotiation.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Harry grinned. “How’s Hope?” He asked, stepping around a pair of wizards that were in the middle of a conversation in the middle of the street.

“Oh, she’s fine – a little shaken up about the whole thing, but she’s tougher than she looks. I think she’s more put-out that she couldn’t teach for so long.”

“Not changed since school, then.” Sirius chuckled.

“No, but I wouldn’t have her any other way – I hear you and Amelia finally made things official? Good for you.” Wesley smiled as they reached the bottom steps of the bank. “About time someone made something respectable out of one of you _Marauders_.”

“Still sore about the wall prank?” Sirius grinned, causing Harry to roll his eyes at the two men. “Besides – James had Lily, remember?”

“Oh, I remember – lost ten Galleons on that.” Wesley sighed, pushing the door open. “Thought she’d get wise.” He turned to look back at Harry, winking down at him. “Good job she didn’t, or we might not have Harry here.”

Despite everything, Harry found himself smiling at the back and forth between the two adults – he knew, from Wesley’s own stories, that he’d been caught in the shenanigans of the Marauders once or twice. Thankfully, Wesley was the kind to forgive and forget.

The three of them entered the foyer of the bank – it was much like any other time he had visited in the past, with large queues before the various tellers, and the constant scratching of quills on parchment and the clinking of coins. Without waiting a beat, Sirius took off to the far end, where the Shift Manager was always stationed behind his tall, podium-like desk.

Thankfully, there were no other witches or wizards waiting to speak to him, and the Goblin looked at the three of them curiously, raising one gnarled, bumpy eyebrow as he peered over his glasses. “Yes?” He demanded, rather than asked – his voice was low and scratchy, in a way, Harry suspected, that spoke of more experience of bellowing words and demands, than speaking at a regular volume.

“House Potter and affiliates to oversee the signing of a contract of sale.” Sirius announced officially, and while his voice was clear and commanding, it wasn’t loud enough to carry very far in the large room, especially over the hubbub of the various tellers.

“Indeed – very well, if you’ll proceed through the doors behind me, you’ll be escorted to a nearby meeting room.” The Goblin nodded, quickly refocusing on the parchment on his desk. Harry glanced at the two adults, who nodded to one another and quickly made their way to the doors, Harry close behind.

Harry had never had dealings with Gringotts beyond simply withdrawing money from his Trust Vault before – Gringotts was a larger place than many realised, with the majority of the bank underground; he’d always been curious about it, but now that he was about to finalise the deal made earlier, he felt that earlier nervousness bubble its way to the surface again.

The three of them passed through the large, gilded doors, which swung on silent hinges at their approach, and a smartly dressed Goblin was already standing there, seemingly waiting for them. The Goblin gestured for them to follow, and quickly set off down the corridor.

There were large tapestries and paintings lining the walls, some almost as tall as the walls they were mounted on – each portrait depicted smartly dressed, angry-looking Goblins standing imperiously before something or another, be it a mound of gold, a pale dragon, or even the bank itself.

Their heels clicked on the marble floor, and as he glanced at both Sirius and Wesley, he noticed that their faces had lost all traces of joviality – both had adopted neutral façades, their shoulders were squared, and their backs were straight.

The Goblin that had been leading them finally came to a stop at a door that looked no different from any of the others they had passed – it was white, with golden filigree and a golden handle inlaid with intricate, spiral patterns. The Goblin entered first, and Harry followed, as was the custom, with Sirius and Wesley following behind him.

Inside the room was a contradiction to everything he had seen in the time between leaving the foyer and arriving here. Everything in the corridor they had walked down had been white, with layers upon layers of ostentatious golden trimmings – this room, by comparison, was all warm, rich mahogany wood and a coffee-coloured carpet.

There was a large table in the middle of the room with large, high-backed dark leather chairs of fine quality. Crystal tumblers, and a richly decorated crystal decanter, half full with a shimmering golden liquid sat in pride of place in the middle of the table, atop a shiny silver tray.

Light poured in through a series of tall windows along the far wall, and the colours that emerged from the crystal tumblers and decanter were breath-taking. There were all sorts; blues, greens, reds, yellows, oranges, purples – it was all he could do not to gasp. He made his way around the table slowly, his fingertips ghosting over the smooth, varnished surface.

“This is gorgeous.” He said, looking over at Sirius and Wesley once the door clicked shut behind them, their Goblin guide leaving quickly. “And it smells _fantastic_.” He added, breathing in the rich aroma of the room.

“They _do_ like to impress.” Sirius agreed with a nod, shrugging his cloak off, and draping it over a nearby chair. Harry copied him quickly, feeling far more comfortable in the warm room. “Harry, you sit here, in the middle.” Sirius said, gesturing to a chair with its back to the windows. “I’ll sit on your right, and Wesley can take the seat to the left.”

“Please, call me Wes.” Wesley – _Wes_ – smiled, hurrying over to his designated chair, and opening his briefcase. Harry settled into his chair next to him, and Sirius sank into the leather of his own with a contented sigh. “So – what were those things you’ll be wanting to keep hold of?”

“The skull, jaw, teeth, and fangs. Ten litres of venom, and twenty metres of hide.” Harry answered him, folding his hands in his lap, resisting the urge to swing his legs, which were dangling just off of the floor.

“The skull I can understand – your lot like their trophies, from what I’ve read. What could you want with the venom and the hide? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“The skull was Sirius’s idea, actually. Dropped that one on me just after I’d mentioned the other things.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at an unapologetic Sirius. “The venom – you never know when it could come in handy, and the hide… I don’t know, I thought I’d have something made out of it eventually. Maybe a new gambeson when I’ve stopped growing.”

“Makes sense – it’s almost as tough as Dragon-hide. I’ll make sure you get what you want.” Wes smiled, organising the sheets before him just as the door opened once again. Harry got to his feet immediately, Sirius and Wes joining him without hesitation.

“My Lords.” Duird greeted them, his familiar face set into a satisfied grin. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Mister…”

“Williams – Wesley Williams, of _Williams_ _and_ _Mattingly_.” Wes smiled, politely, inclining his head. “Lords Potter and Black here just wanted me to look over the contract and make sure everything was to their liking.”

The two other Goblins that had followed Duird into the room murmured quietly to one another, and finally silenced themselves when Duird held up a hand – Harry noticed the guards weren’t with them. It was a shame; their armour had been gorgeous, and so _different_.

“You would question our honour?” Duird growled, narrowing his eyes at Sirius and himself.

“I’d never presume to do so – I simply have a poor history with contracts that have made me wary.” Harry answered, quickly speaking before Sirius could say anything. He glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye and saw him huff quietly to himself.

The Goblins were quiet for a moment, and Harry found himself chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously as the three pairs of onyx eyes stared at him across the table. Finally, Duird nodded, and moved to sit down.

“Very well – here is the contract, detailing everything agreed upon earlier today.” Duird said, waving a hand and sending the contract across the table – Wes picked it up first, his eyes darting back and forth as he read the small, elegant script.

His mouth moved silently, and his brow occasionally furrowed at certain points. Harry pursed his lips as he reclined in the seat, his fingers tapping on his chin absently as he waited. It took longer than he would have thought; he simply assumed Wes had read it more than once, before it was handed back to the Goblins across from them.

“You have stipulated that if anyone other than Lord Potter takes possession of the skull and associated jaw, bones, fangs, and teeth, that the contract is void and you no longer have to pay a Knut to my client – this is curious, as I wonder _why_ something like this would be included in a contract in the first place, if you didn’t already know my client would be planning on doing exactly that.”

The Goblins across from him all scowled at Wes, and Harry found his fists clenching as they gripped the arms of the chair. “They’re to go to the Dwarves, to have them laced with runes and reinforcements to help preserve them – Duird heard me say as much.”

“Our deal is with House Potter – _not_ with the Dwarves. They will be profiteering off of Gringotts goods.”

“Ruhxu is _not_ Gringotts goods!” Harry snapped, standing, and placing his hands on the table – his magic flared beneath the surface for a moment. “She was a creature whose mind was broken through torturous means – her remains are to be treated with the respect they deserve, is that understood?”

The Goblins eyes briefly darted to the decanter in the middle of the table that trembled slightly in the wake of his outburst. “You shall rectify the contract to my satisfaction _now_.” Harry added, jabbing a finger into the wood.

He watched as Duird glanced at his two companions before he gave a single, sharp nod. One of the Goblins, the older of the two, by Harry’s estimation, quickly withdrew a quill from his jacket and made the necessary change before the contract returned to Wesley’s hand. Harry sat back in his chair slowly, his face still stormy as he nodded at Duird across from him.

“Everything seems to be in order here. I’m happy to have my client sign it.” Wes breathed, his voice calm as he slid the parchment over to him, a quill and small pot of ink following shortly from the recesses of his briefcase moments later.

Harry dipped the quill and tapped it twice on the side before signing his name on the parchment – it was such a quick thing, for something so momentous as the sale of Ruhxu’s corpse. He’d seen the articles in the papers and magazines while he’d been at Hogwarts, and in the days since his return to Blackwall; he’d been hailed as a conquering hero, defeating the evil Basilisk of Salazar Slytherin himself, the largest Basilisk in history.

As Harry passed the parchment and quill to Sirius to sign as witness, Harry couldn’t help but feel a little sad over the whole thing. During the year, he’d wanted to _destroy_ Ruhxu – especially after Hermione had been petrified. His magic had pushed him with that need, with the desire to avenge her; now, he just felt sad about the whole thing.

It had become clear, in those moments before her mind snapped, that she had not acted of her own volition – she had refused Tom’s commands, and he’d watched, albeit with his eyes closed, as Tom had done _something_ to the ancient Basilisk. As the weeks had passed, he had concluded that whatever Tom had done, had been what had made her less and less coherent over the course of the year. To have gone from the haunting whispers he’d heard on that first night, to the blood-curdling screams that had threatened to split his head…

He fought back the urge to shiver.

He blinked as the contract made its way back to the Goblins on the other side of the room and was snatched up roughly. “A pleasure doing business, Lord Potter. Lord Black, Mister Williams.” Duird nodded before hurrying from the room.

“That could have gone better.” Sirius sighed as he got to his feet.

“That was a petty move they tried to pull – and far less sneaky than they usually are.” Wes muttered, packing his briefcase quickly. “I usually have to pour over the contracts for a few days, but there was remarkably little in that one.”

“That was probably my fault.” Sirius grimaced. “I dropped the whole skull thing on them after Harry set his conditions.”

“That’ll do it.” Wes scoffed with a roll of his eyes, and Harry felt the corners of his lips twitch as he shrugged his cloak on, the familiar warmth a comfort. “Well, I suppose I’d better hurry back to the office and get Matt a treat.”

Harry smiled at the man as he shook his hand. “Thanks for everything, Wes. Just let me know the bill and I’ll see to it that it’s all squared away.”

Wes waved a hand absently as he smiled. “Don’t worry about it – it was the least I could do after everything.”

“You’re sure? But-“

“Honestly, don’t worry about it. Just think about us when you’ve next got some accounting work that needs doing.” He said with a wink, and Harry found himself nodding quickly. “Sirius – a pleasure as always.”

“Wes.” Sirius nodded, clasping the man’s hand, and shaking it. The two of them watched the accountant leave first, his long strides carrying him around the table and out of the door in only a few seconds. Once the door clicked shut, Sirius turned to look at him. “That was smart – bringing him in on it.”

“It was my own paranoia more than anything.” Harry shrugged as he made his way out of the room, Sirius at his side. The two of them travelled back the way they came in silence, though Sirius kept a reassuring hand on his shoulder the entire time, occasionally giving it a little squeeze that would make him smile.

“Anything else left to do?” Harry asked, glancing at the man beside him as they made their way into the foyer of the bank – it was slightly quieter now, and not as many men and women were waiting in the queues.

“Nothing I can think of – want some ice cream?” Sirius asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Hermione always goes on about mint-chocolate-chip, so I wouldn’t mind giving it a go.”

“Hermione, eh? Should I be worried?” Sirius teased as they walked past the tellers. “My, you’ve gone an adorable shade of red, haven’t you?” He chuckled.

“Ah, _Seigneur_ Black!” A new voice called – both Harry and Sirius came to an immediate halt, spinning on their heels to look at the source. It was an old man, possibly as old as Dumbledore himself – he wore grey robes, trimmed with black and gold, and carried a large staff with a large sapphire-like foci at its top. Unlike the staves Harry was used to seeing, there was no blade on the bottom third.

Harry looked at the man, beyond the clothes, and unique weapon. His skin was tanned, and bore the look of someone that had spent a great deal of his life outdoors, though his regal bearing and the way he peered down his nose at the two of them made Harry think that none of it had been manual labour.

He had a long, white beard that reached the middle of his chest, and was braided neatly – his thin lips were pressed into a tight line, and the corners of his eyes were tight. “Lord Chastain.” Sirius answered neutrally, though Harry felt the way that Sirius’s hand tensed on his shoulder.

“What a delightful pleasure it is to see you amongst the rabble – the, uh, how do you say… _le banal_?”

Harry’s fists clenched at his sides as his lips pursed. He’d taken two years of _Magical Languages_ – he knew enough French to recognise an insult to those of a lower station than themselves.

“I find our every-day wizards and witches more and more remarkable each time I see them. Something those in your own country are quite familiar with?” Sirius answered, though Harry could see the tensing of his jaw.

The Lord Chastain chuckled – it was a rich sound, and he appeared to be entirely genuine in his amusement. Harry fought the urge to grimace as his sapphire eyes focused on him. “Indeed, it appears you are in the company of the most remarkable of all. _Seigneur_ Potter, is it not?”

“It is.” Harry answered tightly.

“An honour to make your _connaissance_ , Lord Potter. _Permettez-moi de me presenter_ , I am Raoul Chastain, French _Ambassadeur_ to the Ministry of Magic.” Chastain said, bowing his head slightly. “You’ll forgive an old man not being able to bow, I hope – old bones, after all.”

“Think nothing of it, Lord Chastain.” Harry nodded, his eyes darting to Sirius at his side. “Sorry to cut this short, my lord, but we have some other business to attend to in Diagon – perhaps another time.”

“ _Oui_ – it would be my pleasure.” Chastain said slowly, and Harry saw the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of the ancient wizard’s mouth. Harry and Sirius left quickly after that, and Harry could feel the eyes of the old man on his back the entire way out of the bank.

The two of them hurried down the steps and quickly melted into the still significant crowd. “What was all of that about?” Harry asked, looking to Sirius when he deemed them far enough away to comfortably talk.

“Raoul Chastain – French Ambassador, as you know. He’s an…” Sirius trailed off, and Harry knew he was searching for the right word. “ _Opinionated_ individual.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, ducking out of the crowd between two tall buildings.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder at the white-washed bank and grimaced. “He fought for Grindelwald.” He answered after a moment.

“He _what_?” Harry snapped, his magic already dancing along his fingertips. “You’re telling me I was just introduced to a man that wanted to subjugate _Muggles_?”

“More or less.” Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Obviously, I don’t like him – half of the Ministry doesn’t like him, and the other half is in his pocket. He’s a dangerous and influential man – France _loves_ him.”

“Wonderful.” He muttered, leaning against the wall of the building. “Can we not just, I don’t know, turn him over to Amelia?”

Sirius scoffed and chuckled to himself as he patted him on the back. “Not quite – he has diplomatic immunity. Nothing we can do.” Sirius shrugged, turning as a sound further into the small space between the buildings caught their attention. Harry grimaced, wondering just _what_ could happen now – it had been a long day, and he just wanted to crawl into bed, regardless of how much Clara would bother him.

They peered into the shadows, and watched as a House Elf, dressed in a grubby pillowcase trotted out of a side door with a bag of rubbish, humming to itself. Only when it turned its head in their direction did Harry recognise those big, bright green eyes and large, bat-like ears.

“Dobby?” He called, stunned. “Dobby, what are you doing here?” He asked, watching as the Elf’s head snapped in his direction. Dobby dropped the bag and ran to him, tears of happiness rolling down his cheeks as he threw his arms around Harry’s waist.

“The Great Harry Potter, visits with Dobby! Oh, what an honour this be!”

Harry knelt before the Elf while Sirius chuckled behind him. Dobby’s skin looked far greyer than it had when he’d last seen him at Hogwarts, and the pillowcase was the same. There were other things as well; Dobby’s eyes weren’t as bright, and his skin was clinging to the bone with nothing between them. He looked ill – desperately so.

“What are you doing here?” He asked again, holding the Elf’s tiny shoulders – he tried not to grimace at the oily-feeling of his skin, or of the grime he was covered in.

“Dobby be a _Free_ Elf – Dobby be finding work where he can.” He said, beaming proudly.

“You’ve not found anyone to bond with?”

Dobby shook his head, slowly and chewed on his bottom lip. “Wizards and witches bes offering, but Dobby not be wanting to go back a bad family.”

“You don’t want to serve anyone like the Malfoys.”

“No, sir.”

“You know you’ll die, though.”

“Anything bes better than the nasty old masters.” Dobby sighed. “Dobby hasn’t had to iron his hands for a _month_.” Dobby wiggled his bandage-less hands before Harry’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but laugh with the little creature.

“You’ve no idea how happy that makes me, Dobby – if it were up to me, you’d never be punished again.” He grinned, pulling the Elf in for a hug; Dobby was surprised for a moment, but eagerly wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and gave him a squeeze. “Is that why you’re out here? Carrying the rubbish? Are you trying to save your magic?”

Dobby leaned back from him and nodded his head guiltily, staring at his toes. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, who gave him a pointed look. “Harry…” He began, his voice firm but exasperated.

“He saved my life – it’s the least I can do.”

“You can’t bond him; not until you come into your title.”

“Not to the Family, I can’t – but I can to _me_.” He huffed, looking back to the Elf before him, who was looking at him with wide eyes. “Would you like to bond with _me_ , Dobby? To become my personal Elf?”

“Harry Potter would… bond with _Dobby_?” Dobby murmured, worrying the thin flesh of the bottom of his ears with his fingers.

“Harry- I mean, yes, _I_ would.” Harry grinned, standing slowly, and flicking his wand into his hand. Dobby dropped to his knees, and he couldn’t help the wince he made at the sound of it.

“Dobby would be honoured to bond and serve the great Harry Potter.” The Elf whispered, and somehow, it was louder than any of the noise of the shopping district behind them. Harry nodded and shifted his grip on the handle of the wand. He glanced over his shoulders and watched as Sirius threw his arms in the air and rolled his eyes with a sigh.

Looking back at the Elf on his knees before him, Harry levelled his wand at Dobby’s forehead, so that the tip was just lightly pressed against his small forehead – distantly, he could feel Dobby’s magic; it was excited, wild, but oh-so-weak. Dobby was weaker than he appeared, and a part of his heart broke at the revelation.

“I, Harry, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter do so lay claim to this Elf – you will guard my secrets, and do as commanded, from this day, until the end of my days.”

There was a rush of magic throughout his arm as his magic rushed to claim Dobby’s own – he felt it swirl around the two of them as the tip of his wand lit up for a moment in a brilliant flash of crimson light. Dobby’s skin became healthier before his eyes, less oily, and fuller-looking. The dirt and grime remained, but that could all be seen to later.

The most important thing, for Harry, was that Dobby’s eyes became brighter than ever before – almost glowing in the shadows of the buildings on either side of them. As Dobby shakily got to his feet, Harry dropped to a knee before him, crushing him against him in a firm hug. “Welcome to the family, Dobby!”


	39. Harry XXVI

July thirty-first dawned a warm and pleasant day – the sun was shining in the summer heat, small insects flitted through the air, darting from flower to flower, and there was a comfortable breeze to keep it all from becoming stifling.

He watched as the branches of the nearby trees gently swayed, and if he strained his neck just enough, he could see the Whomping Willow enjoying itself on the far side of the gardens. It looked to be a gorgeous day, and it wasn’t even lunch – and he was watching it all from the window in Arcturus’s – _Sirius’s_ – study, separated from the outside world by a thin pane of glass.

The month had been fun – with the Basilisk sold, he’d only had to briefly travel back to Hogwarts to let the teams down into the _Chamber_ twice; the Goblins were quick and efficient, so much so, that he’d already taken possession of the materials he’d demanded – the skull, jaw, fangs, and teeth were already with the Dwarves, having intricate runes carved into them, and reinforced, to make it ready for mounting.

The rest of the month had passed in a blur – he had spent time with his family, enjoying the simple pleasure of their company, and found himself decompressing. The lingering stress of the last school year washed from his shoulders, and he found himself happier than he had been all school year.

He’d exchanged letters with his friends – Neville had told him all about his new plants, and some little discoveries he’d made exploring his home; including some everlasting candles – a rare and ancient find.

Tracey had re-visited the dragon at the zoo, and even gone on a short holiday to Versailles, in France, to visit _École Royale De Sorcellerie_ ; a school that rivalled Beauxbatons in reputation – the blessing of Unicorn on its grounds had been beautiful to see.

Daphne had written to him, detailing her many exasperations of her younger sister. The two Greengrass sisters had spent the month with their family, much like he had, enjoying the company of various cousins and other relations; apparently, Daphne didn’t know what was worse: Astoria, or the twin terrors of Ciara and Jasmine Greengrass, their third cousins.

Astoria, had, of course, gotten on with her cousins like a house on fire – she had sent him a letter detailing the many adventures they had gone on, including the whole nest of dragons that they had slain, all with a trusty Hippogriff steed taken from the toy-herd he’d given her in the Christmas of his first year.

Tucked away, hidden under lock-and-key in the top drawer of his bedside table, was Hermione’s letter which he kept in another locked, wooden box. The box, an object that he’d found upon his first visit to Rosestone, had belonged to his grandmother – Dorea. It was made of sycamore, the gran of the wood ripped away from the bottom, up and over the front in a way that looked like sea-spray splashing over rocks. At either end of the sycamore panel, invisibly joined, were stained and varnished dark oak panels that contrasted beautifully with the bone-like colour of the sycamore.

He’d taken to keeping little things in it over the years, small trinkets and mementos he’d collected here and there, either from Arpton, or anywhere else. Recently, he’d started stashing the letters from Hermione in it, away from prying eyes – her most recent missive taking a place of pride at the very top.

She’d been up to all sorts in the last month; visiting relatives – her grandmother sounded fun – visiting the coast, and even venturing up to Nottingham itself to spend a day at Sherwood Forest and visiting the Old Oak. It also wasn’t a surprise that she’d also finished her homework for the summer already, either.

She had written of other things, of course – talking about their favourite colours; hers was magenta, which had come as a surprise, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d told her that his was periwinkle, for the flowers that grew in the gardens of Rosestone – there was something about them that relaxed him.

There were other things they’d discussed about – what they wanted to do when they grew up. He had, of course, mentioned that his duties as the future Lord of House Potter would be a full-time job, though, if he’d been able to choose anything, he would’ve liked to own his own little shop. Something quiet and out of the way, where the hustle and bustle of the day could be forgotten. She hadn’t surprised him at all when she’d mentioned working at the Ministry in some capacity, as long as she could make a difference.

He'd pictured it a few times since – _Minister_ Hermione Granger. The title made him smile; already he could imagine all of the differences she would make. The Wizengamot wouldn’t stand a chance before her determination and fierceness – he couldn’t _wait_ to see Lord Dondarrion’s reaction to her appointment.

In their correspondence, he’d asked her questions as well, of course – what had her life been like _before_ Hogwarts? What was her favourite music? Did she have a favourite place to visit – any hobbies outside of what he knew from their time at Hogwarts. He’d devoured the answers she had given him, and he’d read her letters no less than once a day.

He breathed out through his nose quietly and flexed his fingers at the small of his back. While it might have been his thirteenth birthday, it felt much like any other day. He’d woken up at his usual time, gotten dressed, eaten with Sirius, Amelia, Susan, and Remus, and spent some time with both Clara and Hedwig before preparing for the upcoming meeting.

Clara had even gone so far as to wake him up; something she blessedly hadn’t done since the end of term. She had hopped on his bed and pecked at his shoulder until, in an attempt to retreat from the bothersome bird, he’d completely rolled out of the bed and ended up in a heap on the floor, tangled in his sheets.

Hedwig, by comparison, had been positively Saint-like. She remained in his room for most of the day, occasionally leaving her perch to hunt, or to deliver whatever mail he needed seeing to. Some nights, like Clara, she would burrow her way into the crook of his neck, and her quiet breathing would lull him to sleep.

That had been something that had improved _astronomically_ with his return to Blackwall. While he still had the occasional nightmare, he no longer woke in a cold sweat – the sounds of the Manor at night didn’t drive him to dive for his wand, nor did the sound of the wind on the windows. His conversations continued each evening with Sirius and Remus, of course, but he found the distance between himself and Hogwarts… _soothing_.

In those late-night conversations, the three of them had broached a number of topics from anything as simple and mundane as his favourite foods at Hogwarts, to the uncomfortable topics of the children that had snubbed him over his two years.

Personally, he was of the opinion to forgive and forget – he’d much rather just get on with his life, but he knew appearances and standards had to be maintained. He was the sole heir to the most powerful family in Britain; if the future Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot thought they could bully him without impunity, how much longer would it be until his House fell into ruin?

So, _reluctantly_ , he’d given up the names of those he thought had wronged him the most – and not _just_ himself; he’d given the names of those that had cornered his friends as well. There were many students attending Hogwarts that were related to the older families in one way or another, though only a handful were from the direct lines.

Mostly, the heirs had left him and his friends alone, content to turn a blind eye, though there were a few exceptions. It still elicited a small, satisfied smile remembering how Cormac McLaggen’s nose had shattered beneath his fist, and how his bastard brother, Richard, had turned as pale as a ghost – they were a family that Harry wouldn’t mind ruining.

But, as Arcturus – _and now Sirius_ – often said, he had to learn to pick his fights. House McLaggen may have been an upstanding family once, a long time ago. Now, they were barely able to afford their own lifestyles, and each new generation was apparently more arrogant than the last – for _what_ , Harry had no idea, but just the _thought_ of that arrogant arse was enough to make his lip curl in disgust. The unfortunate truth of the matter was, they were simply too insignificant to bother with, politically.

The greatest slight against his House, had been Susan not coming to his aid throughout the year – House Bones and House Potter had a formal alliance, something that had been arranged through Arcturus and Sirius when the latter had become betrothed. That she had remained silent and aloof of it all was the only thing that had saved House Bones for formal reparations – not that he _wanted_ to do something like that in the first place.

In the past month, he and Susan had spent much of their free time together, getting to know one another and finding a level of comfort between themselves. Susan was friendly, and far more open with him that he had initially expected her to be – he knew that she felt terrible over the events of the year and was striving to make up for it, but, at the end of the day, it felt good to have someone his age that _wasn’t_ in his immediate group of friends.

Would they spend time together at Hogwarts? He didn’t know – she had her circle of close friends, and he had his. He would absolutely include her in anything they were doing if she asked to be, and he got the feeling that she would do the same, but there was no need to force anything.

His relationship with Susan was much like how his relationship was with Astoria, though not anywhere near the same extent. After all, he and Susan had essentially only started to get to know each other for a month, while he had known Astoria from around the time she could walk; in time, perhaps, he would be as close to Susan as Astoria, but it would take time – time he was very much looking forward to spending getting to know her. The bigger his little family got, the better.

There had been other things Sirius and Remus had spoken to him about, when they weren’t psychoanalysing his life, as nice as it was. Sometimes, they talked business, or about the current political climate surrounding the Wizengamot.

One of those talks had actually been what had led to today’s meeting – a meeting, he hoped, that would take a large chunk of his responsibilities out of his hands in the day-to-day handling of his House.

Specifically, his finances.

House Potter, as he knew, had vast sums of wealth that they had accumulated over almost two-thousand years, either through conquest, taxes, or various business ventures in both the Muggle and Magical worlds. Gringotts was all-well-and-good as a bank, but they did little other than to keep that money in basic circulation and provide him with statements. He needed something _more_ than that, and he had just the person in mind.

The door opening behind him caused him to look over his shoulder – there, quickly slipping into the room, which was rightfully _his_ , was Sirius, bedecked in his finest doublet with the silver serpent of House Black on his breast, and his hair neatly tied back. “He’s just come through the Wards – are you ready?”

“Do you think he’ll go for it?” He asked, sliding into Sirius’s chair, while the man himself hurried around the desk to stand at his right shoulder. “I feel like he’ll think it’s charity or something.”

“Not if you explain yourself well, and, for the record, I still think it’s a brilliant idea.” Sirius murmured lowly.

Harry made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and adjusted his own doublet around his throat, loosening the collar just a little to stop it from becoming stifling. He breathed in deeply as he dropped his hands to the arms of the large chair and watched the door, breathing in deeply as he did.

“Here he is.” Sirius whispered, just before the door opened once again, only this time it was Milpy, the Head Elf, who trotted through, her little head of hair bobbing adorably as she walked. She held the door open for a familiar man, in an equally familiar grey suit. Harry got to his feet quickly and held his hand out, Sirius following suit a moment later as custom dictated, regardless of how uncomfortable it made Harry feel.

“Wesley – I’m glad you made it.” He smiled as the accountant shook his hand firmly, his blue eyes curious, but friendly. “I’m sure you’ve got more than one question.”

“Just one or two, I suppose. Harry, Sirius. And please, call me Wes.”

“Wes.” Sirius nodded with his usual, disarming smile. “Please, take a seat.”

Harry let Wesley sit first, before slowly lowering himself into his own seat. “So, I’ll just get to it, I suppose, and we can all get on with our days – no doubt you’d like to get back to Hope, and I apparently have a birthday to attend.”

“It’s a hard life.” Wesley grinned, winking at him. “Happy birthday, by the way – from both Hope and I.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Now, I’d like to discuss the bit of business we did at the start of the month in regard to the sale of the Basilisk, Ruhxu. If I’m being honest, I’ve never cared about money, nor do I think I ever will – my job, when I come of age, will be to increase the wealth, standing, and position of my House. You spotted something that I would have overlooked, and for that, I’m thankful.”

“It was no bother – happy to help.”

“In any event, I’ve given it some thought, and I have a business proposition for you. As you’re no doubt aware, Gringotts does the bare-minimum; they’re a bank, and while my House has used them for a number of generations as our primary go-to for all our financial dealings, I think it best if I break away from that tradition.”

“Do you want my recommendations?” Wesley blinking, looking between the two of them. “I could get a list to you by Monday, depending on what you’re looking for.”

Harry smiled. “I won’t need one – I’ve already made my decision. I’d like for _your_ firm to handle my finances.”

Wesley sat there silently blinking at him for a moment or two, before finally shaking himself and blinking rapidly as his eyes darted between the two of them. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“I want to put your firm on retainer. You would essentially be doing House Potter’s bookkeeping, long term financial planning, consulting, and management.”

“You’re serious.” Wesley breathed, slumping back in his chair, and wiping a weary hand down his face.

“No, that would be me.” Sirius snorted, and Harry found himself rolling his eyes in time with Wesley across from him.

“Why me?” Was the eventual question the accountant asked; his voice soft. “There are bigger firms, more reputable firms out there.”

He leaned forward in his chair and placed his arms on the desk between the two of them. “None of them helped me and asked for nothing in return – I’m used to people wanting my money, Wesley, or wanting _something_ from me. You simply asked me to keep you in mind for future business – well, this is my future business.”

“You’ve been a terrible influence on him.” Wesley glared, looking at Sirius, who Harry could hear quietly chuckling under his breath.

“I know – utterly ruined him.” Sirius returned, proudly; his amusement clear in his voice, and this time, Harry turned and grinned up at him. “This was his idea, actually – Remus and I only got him to think of it from every angle.”

“I’ve thought it through carefully, and I really do think you’re the best choice – I’d accept nothing less than a yes.” Harry grinned cheekily, bouncing in his chair a little as his feet idly kicked.

“Technically,” Wes said slowly, sitting up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “my firm could do that, but it would require a _massive_ amount of capital to hire staff, move premises, contracting out experts – given the amount of work I can imagine comes with your, well, _you_ , I imagine it’s all going to cost quite a lot. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“I can provide it.” Harry offered, shrugging a shoulder. “Whatever you need to help get you going, name it – House Potter will provide. It’s the least we can do.”

“I-“ Wesley began, only for his jaw to snap shut a moment later. “You’d _invest_?”

“Of course – I’m asking a lot of you and your firm, trust me, _I know_. It’s the least I can do.”

“Uh, okay.” Wesley swallowed, loosening his tie slightly. “So, I’ll need a week to come up with a preliminary plan and timeline, estimate costs, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’re serious.”

“I believe we’ve already had this conversation.” Sirius snorted, and Harry fought the urge to throw his elbow backwards.

“I don’t know what to say.” Wesley muttered, ignoring Sirius.

“Say that you accept the position.” Harry said, chuckling. “It’d make this whole thing go a lot easier, honestly.”

Wesley ran his hand down his face and chuckled before leaning forward in his own seat, his elbows on his knees. “Okay – I’ll agree to it, on _one_ condition.”

“Name it.”

“You handle your money responsibly – I don’t want to see you squander and waste it all.”

“He’s _disgustingly_ frugal.” Sirius snorted from behind him, and Harry glared at the man for a brief moment, before turning to focus his gaze on the man across the desk from him.

“I promise.” Harry nodded, glancing between the two men. “I know it’s usually customary to have a drink after this sort of thing, but I think Amelia might kick my arse.”

Wesley laughed, as did Sirius. “That’s perfectly fine, Harry – besides, if it’s all the same to you, I think it best if I get going; I’d expect a detention with Hope when you head back to school for how many weekends I’m going to have to work for the next month or so.”

“Here’s my condition then: don’t over-work yourself. I don’t care how long it takes you to get everything set up, I’ll still pay it, even if it doubles, or even triples the cost.”

“You’re a remarkable young man, Harry.” Wesley said, getting to his feet. He held his hand out before him, and Harry quickly grasped it and gave it a shake. “I’m looking forward to this opportunity, despite all the work coming my way.” Wesley added with a wink.

He watched as Wesley and Sirius shook hands quickly, and a moment later, Milpy trotted through the door to escort Wesley beyond the Wards that surrounded the property. Harry watched the two of them leave with a small smile; his shoulders felt lighter than they had for a number of weeks, and the tension bled off of him so quickly, for a moment, he thought his knees were going to buckle.

“I told you he’d go for it.” Sirius grinned, clapping him proudly on the shoulder. “I think you’ve got yourself a good man, there – I remember him from Hogwarts. It’s a shame he didn’t meet us before, well, you know…”

“I’d appreciate _not_ talking about that piece of shit today.” Harry grunted, a dark mood quickly washing over him.

“Right, sorry.” Sirius grimaced with a wince as he sank into the chair that Wesley had just vacated. Harry dropped, rather gracelessly, into the chair he’d just conducted his first official meeting in and blew out an exhausted breath of air.

“Is it wrong for me to just want to sleep the rest of the day away?” He asked after a moment, burying his face in his hands as he yawned. “I didn’t think I’d be so tired.”

“Same thing happened with me; you know – I think it’s the stress of the whole thing. Besides, I imagine everyone would be pretty put-out if you didn’t attend your own birthday. Dobby especially.”

Harry chuckled, imagining the little House Elf frantically popping around the house, making the final adjustments to whatever it was he was helping Susan with. With Susan having been told to organise his birthday, Harry had been excluded from learning a damned thing, and the second he’d returned home with Dobby… Well, the little traitor had leapt at the opportunity to help with the preparations.

Dobby had… filled a hole – one that he didn’t know had existed. Oh, he could have wrung his neck when his Bludger had destroyed his ribcage, but there was something about him; perhaps it was his frantic energy, or the large, emerald orbs that glowed up at him, or even just knowing that Dobby was _always_ there, ready to look after him without a second’s thought, but Harry had come to love Dobby in the short time they’d had together.

When they had found him between those two buildings in Diagon, with his magic almost completely spent, and so pitifully underweight, Harry’s heart had been viciously torn in two. Dobby had been so exhausted from the bonding, that they’d had to carry him back to Blackwall after he’d passed out from exhaustion.

For two days, Dobby had to be nursed back to health, despite the healthier sheen to his skin, and despite not looking quite so malnourished. Harry’s magic could only do so much after all, and his body had needed time to heal itself and repair what damage he had suffered. The other Elves had joined in, of course – even Kreacher – to help Dobby get back on his feet.

Susan and Amelia had instantly become besotted, fussing over the little creature day and night. He and Sirius hadn’t been much better; Harry had brought both Hedwig _and_ Clara into the lounge, where they had set up a little cot for Dobby to recover in, and they’d slept down there both nights. Clara hadn’t even so much as made a squawk of protest throughout the whole thing.

When Dobby had woken up, it had been a little celebration for their family. There had never been any danger of Dobby _not_ recovering, but still, they had worried. He had swept Dobby up in a crushing hug, and the Elf had giggled merrily into his shoulder as his little feet kicked as they spun around.

The two of them had become practically inseparable, until Susan had offered for Dobby to help with his party. For the last few days, Dobby had been a whirlwind around the Manor, darting from room to room, and cupboard to cupboard seeing to this or that. It was incredibly amusing to watch, and he was glad that Susan had thought to include him.

“He’s been good to me.” Harry nodded. “The least I can do is turn up – I can’t say anything about staying awake, though.”

“You’d better – that poor thing has been fussing about the house for _days_. Sometimes, I can’t tell if they’re really preparing your party, or if they’re all up to shenanigans.” Sirius chuckled, trailing a finger back and forth over the short hair on his chin; his eyes twinkling.

“Why do I feel like you’re _hoping_ for shenanigans?” He asked, a bemused smile threatening to undo all of the good, responsible work his exasperated stare was doing.

Sirius shrugged. “It’s been a good while since we had a prank-war.”

“You lost the last one.”

“There’s no such thing as _losing_ a prank-war.”

“I turned you _blue_ for a week.”

“My point stands.”

Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Speaking of pranks – how are the Weasley twins? Amelia said they were round ‘til late last night.”

“Oh, they’re fine – just had a catch up, and I passed on a spot of advice or two.” Sirius grinned, folding his arms proudly as he leaned back in the chair. “I like to think I see a little of myself in them. Roguish, charming, funny…”

Harry snorted.

“Hey, I’m funny!” Sirius pouted.

“Your idea of humour is dropping that _Sirius_ joke every chance you get.”

“It’s called _consistency_ – I’ll have you know it’s a perfectly desirable trait.” Sirius huffed, shifting in his chair as his nose lifted with feigned arrogance. “I’ll have you know I’ve even heard people call it an attractive quality of mine.”

“What people?”

“Oh, this and that.”

“Amelia doesn’t count. She’d put up with just about anything from you, I think.” Harry scoffed, smirking at his godfather’s put-out expression. “She’s been good for you, I think. Despite, well, _everything_ , you’re the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.”

Sirius regarded him with a curious eye but nodded with a small uptick of the corners of his mouth as his eyes momentarily lost focus. “Aye, luckier than most.” He breathed before his grey eyes met Harry’s own once again. “After the whole thing after my trial, it just feels like, I don’t know, wasted time – I hope you never go through the same.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Good – I expect you to be besotted with a pretty witch – or wizard – by the time you graduate. I’ll need pictures of the two of you in your graduation robes.” Sirius grinned, his eyes twinkling, even as they creased in the corners.

Harry cringed, even as he felt his cheeks warm under Sirius’s gaze. “That’s putting an awfully short amount of time on it.”

“Got to keep up your Potter traditions – Charlus met Dorea at Hogwarts, and James met Lily.” Sirius shrugged, though his smirk remained. “Say, what about, I don’t know, Daphne? She terrifies even _me_ , but you’re getting to that age now.”

Harry’s nose crinkled, even as he felt the slight, icy sensation of pure fear dance along his spine at the thought of it. “She’s like a sister – a _mean_ one. It’d just be, I don’t know, _weird_. It’d be like kissing Neville. Besides, she couldn’t take my name, and I couldn’t take hers.”

“She could give up her inheritance and pass it on to Astoria.” Sirius pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes. “She’d never do that to Astoria. Besides, it’d be _weird_.”

“Okay, what about Miss Davis?”

“I’d be eaten by that dragon she always talks about.”

“Miss Granger?”

“I-“ Harry began, only for his mouth to snap shut and his face exploded in heat – he wanted to sink into his chair as the fluttery feeling in his stomach returned.

“Oh, now _this_ is interesting – what’s the matter, Pup, Kneazle got your tongue?”

“Shut up.” Harry huffed, sinking lower in the chair as he covered his face with a hand – _Merlin_ , even his ears and neck were burning hot. “She’s _nice_.”

“ _Nice_?” Sirius guffawed, and behind his hand, Harry could hear him slap his thigh as he laughed. _Gods_ , Harry just wanted the chair to swallow him whole. “Is _that_ why the two of you have been writing to one another so much?”

Harry nodded silently, his eyes clamped shut, even as he chewed on his lips. He _never_ got this embarrassed – growing up with Sirius and Remus had pretty much seen to that. “It’s been… _nice_.” He muttered.

Sirius snorted. There was the scraping of his chair on the wooden floorboards, a handful of steps, and then his hand slowly being coaxed away from his face. He blinked at Sirius, who was kneeling before him, his hands wrapped around Harry’s own, smaller ones. His eyes darted between his hands and Sirius’s grey eyes nervously.

“Come on, what brought this on, hm?” Sirius asked, gently. There was still the amusement in his eyes, but his face was earnest.

Harry shrugged. “She kissed me on the cheek.”

“She did, did she?”

He nodded and shifted in his seat awkwardly before clearing his throat, his eyes darting to the side. “It was – _nice_.”

Sirius pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “I’ll wager it was. _Merlin_ , I’ve waited _years_ to tease you about girls.”

“Don’t you dare.” Harry said, a little louder than he’d meant to as his eyes grew wide and he sat up in his seat.

“Dare what?”

“Mention this – to _anyone_.”

“Marauder’s honour.” Sirius winked. “Just remember, if you ever need any tips, just-“

“Go to Amelia.”

“-come to me. Hey!” Sirius scowled, poking him in the side enough to make him laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remus told me about your fifth year.” Harry shrugged, innocently.

“Traitor.” Sirius muttered with a pout, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the door. “He was supposed to keep that a secret. He broke the first rule.”

“Is that the one about mischief, being a snitch, or being a cock-block, because the first rule is _confusing_.” Harry frowned as Sirius turned to look at him, bemused.

“Depending on _which_ fifth year story he told you, he broke all three.”

“Oh, he told me them all.” Harry grinned.

“ _Bastard_.” Sirius cursed, getting to his feet. “I suppose I deserve it after teasing you about the girls.” He sighed waving a hand in his direction.

“He told me to point it out if you ever did it.” Harry shrugged with a grin as he hopped out of the chair, his previous lethargy forgotten. “I always wondered what he meant by that.”

“ _Merlin_ , how old were you?”

“Uh – seven? I think it was the week after you had to explain what a cock-block was. By the way, how _do_ you fit three-“ Harry was cut off by Sirius’s hand clamping over his mouth – there was a brief, startled moment as his entire body tensed, but as he relaxed, his eyes narrowed as he glared up at the older man in front of him. The older man, who, coincidentally, had turned the same shade of crimson that he was sure _he’d_ been only minutes before.

“I think _you_ need to go and make sure everything is ready outside for your guests – and let _Moony_ know I want a word.” Sirius huffed, keeping a hand over Harry’s mouth as he frog-matched him to the door. With a roll of his eyes, Harry stepped out into the hallway, and let Sirius push him gently enough to get him walking with a laugh.

It wouldn’t be long until his friends and their families arrived for the day – the plan was to have everyone stay for the night, and he couldn’t wait to properly show Tracey and Hermione around the house. He wandered through the house to the back door and quickly stepped into the cool breeze and closed his eyes as he breathed deeply.

With the worry of his meeting with Wesley gone, he felt lighter than he had in _days_. He had been so nervous – after all, why wouldn’t he be? It was the first meeting he’d undertaken that would seriously affect his House for years to come. While he didn’t know Wesley as well as his fiancé, he knew him to be a good man, and he obviously knew his business. He couldn’t have asked for more.

He opened his eyes and began walking across the gravel, the crunching sounds the only accompaniment to his destination. Just as he was about to enter the stable, a brief flash of orange light caught his eye, and he looked to it with a grin – there, flapping lazily, was Clara.

She squawked her greetings as she flew in lazy circles above him, her long tailfeathers trailing after her. The familiar bark of Hedwig joined her a moment later as the owl landed on his left shoulder and nipped his ear playfully. He smiled and scratched her belly with his fingertips, chuckling as she closed her eyes happily. “Come on then.” He said, looking to Clara in the sky.

He stepped into the stable and made his way over to Arlan’s stall – the slate stallion’s head already resting over the door, and his dark eyes watching him curiously. Arlan had spent time with both of his Familiars plenty of times and had even played with Clara once or twice – the memories of them racing across the fields were some of his favourite.

Hedwig hopped from his shoulder onto the wooden door next to Arlan’s nose and barked quietly as she rubbed her face up against the larger creature. Clara landed at Harry’s side a moment later and gently nipped his fingers. He rolled his eyes, even as he absently ran his fingers over the soft crown of feathers atop her head.

He spent time with the three of them, fussing over each of his companions as the day ticked by. He played a strange game of fetch with Clara; he’d name an item from somewhere in the stables, and she’d go off and get it – she couldn’t use her Phoenix Fire, because that was cheating. Hedwig was content to be petted and fussed over, and Arlan had listened to his soft murmurings, even as he braided a few strands of his mane.

“Harry!” He heard, and he barely had time to brace himself before a little black-haired missile collided with his stomach, a pair of little arms wrapping around his middle and squeezing so tightly that he thought his head might pop off. “Happy birthday, Harry!” Astoria cried, giving him an extra squeeze, even as Piper darted about their feet happily.

Clara, who had never met the fox, hopped closer, cautiously, out of the corner of his eye, her dark, beady eyes peering at the black and orange fox curiously, her head tilting this way and that. As Astoria released him, he watched as Piper sniffed at Clara, his whiskers twitching before he gave little snuff-sound and began waving his bushy tail back and forth.

He turned his attention back to the girl that still had her arms around him and was beaming up at him. “Hello.” He grinned, giving Astoria a little squeeze. “Did you just get here?”

She nodded so quickly; her dark hair bounced in its up-do. “Yeah, Dobby brought us, and Daddy brought your presents, but I’m not allowed to tell you what they are, but,” She began quickly, almost bouncing on the spot with excitement. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “mine’s the best.”

“I’m sure it is.” He laughed. “But you know you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course we do – it’s your birthday! Everyone knows you get presents on your birthday, silly.” She huffed, flicking him gently on the chin as he released her.

“Where’s your sister – don’t tell me you left her behind.”

Astoria snorted and rolled her eyes. “Daphne would never run anywhere. It’s _unbecoming_.” She said primly, affecting a _scarily_ good impression of her older sister. As she knelt to fuss Clara, who was hopping and playing with Piper – the youngest Greengrass’s affinity for his mischievous Phoenix something that put more than a little bit of fear into him – Harry finally took in Astoria’s appearance.

She was dressed in a dark satin dress, though he spied the boots and trousers that peeked out from just below the hem. He chuckled and picked her up from behind, making her squeal happily and kick her legs – he was suddenly glad that Felix had taught him how to channel his magic through his body; he’d lost the ability to easily pick Astoria up years ago.

“Harry!” She squealed as he spun her around, her giggles bouncing off of the walls of the stables. Hedwig barked from her position next to Arlan’s head, and both Piper and Clara danced around his feet. “Put me down, Harry!” She laughed.

He lowered her to the floor a moment later, the two of them laughing – Astoria’s face was flushed, and a few strands of her hair had escaped in the excitement. “I thought I’d find the two of you in here.” Daphne sighed as she appeared in the doorway, a bemused smile on her face.

“Daphne!” Harry grinned, wrapping an arm around Astoria’s shoulders, and pulling her into his side. “I was just showing Astoria what she can expect at Hogwarts.”

The elder Greengrass made a noise in the back of her throat as she approached. She wore a steel-coloured dress, though, unlike Astoria’s thick tresses, hers was loose and cascaded down to her waist in elegant waves. “I’m sure – I do hope you know the price of doing such a thing to _me_.” She hummed, pursing her lips slightly and arching an eyebrow carefully.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned, releasing the younger of the girls as Daphne stepped up to him. She wrapped her arms around him and gave a quick hug before leaning back.

“Happy birthday, Harry.” She smiled, her nose crinkling. “Mother and father are talking to Sirius and Remus at the moment – that Elf of yours is something.”

He chuckled and glanced at all of the creatures around him. “I think I have a habit of attracting excitable personalities.” He muttered, looking pointedly at Clara, who had the gall to blink up at him innocently. Behind him, Arlan snorted, and Hedwig barked quietly. “Come on, we should probably head back to the house before anyone else gets here. Come on, you two, off you go.” He said, looking between his two Familiars.

Clara took off with a soft chirp, and disappeared through the stable doors, with Hedwig hurrying after her, though the two birds went in opposite directions – Clara went toward the trees, while Hedwig banked toward the house.

He glanced back at the silent horse, who was watching him quietly and gave his nose a gentle rub. “I’ll see you later.” He muttered, before following the two Greengrass girls out of the building – the older far more poised than the younger, who was running back and forth merrily with her fox.

Daphne’s arctic eyes watched him as he joined her, and he looked pointedly at her mouth – he knew when she was trying not to laugh. “Something funny, Daphne?”

“Oh, not at all – I just enjoy seeing you brow-beaten by your girls.” She replied airily. “Hard to think you could take on a thousand-year-old Basilisk but be pushed around by a Phoenix and a Snowy Owl.”

“We both know Clara is _far_ more intimidating than any Basilisk could _ever_ be.” He muttered, grinning at Astoria who paused in her little chase of Piper and beamed at him.

“I’m proud of you, you know.” Daphne said after a moment, as Astoria and Piper darted ahead of the two of them. “I couldn’t have done what you did.”

He shrugged. “I barely did anything – it was mostly Clara during the fight. You, Tracey, and Hermione did most of the leg-work in finding the _Chamber_ ; I’m just the idiot that went in.”

“You need to stop that.” Daphne huffed, frowning at him. “You did a remarkable thing, and you saved the school; _own_ _it_.”

“I sold the Basilisk, by the way.” He said, changing the direction of the conversation – it wasn’t even a subtle attempt, and the quiet huff from Daphne let him know exactly what she thought of it. “Sold it at the start of the month.”

“I’d heard.” She hummed.

“The skull’s with the Dwarves at the moment; seemed the right thing to do – to… I don’t know, _honour_ her, in a way?”

“The snake that killed a student, petrified others – including a teacher – and tried to kill you?”

“She’d been driven to madness. I could feel it, you know – as she died.” He murmured as they stopped just outside the door; Astoria and Piper already having darted ahead of them and inside. “It was quick, and I didn’t really realise until I went to let the Goblins in there to render the carcass. She was… _grateful_.”

“Yes, well, _I’m_ grateful that you survived.” Daphne huffed, hooking her arm through his own as she lifted her chin ever so slightly. “I’d have kicked your arse if you’d have died down there – now, enough of all of this, you have a party. Come on.”

He rolled his eyes and allowed Daphne to drag him into the house – they entered through the kitchen, and he inhaled deeply as the various smells of Woopy’s cooking. The soft pops of the Elf darting about the kitchen were like a staccato drumbeat as he muttered to himself and snapped his fingers at this and that.

They left the kitchen, even as his stomach audibly rumbled, and made their way to the lounge. Daphne pushed him through first, rolling her eyes as he hesitated. The fact that all of his friends and their families would be at the house, meant that today was the largest birthday he’d ever had – he was used to small things, a quiet meal with his family and the Elves.

He opened the door and blinked at the sight of the room and everyone in it. Streamers hung from the walls, and a large banner saying _Happy Birthday Harry!_ hung from the far wall. Balloons littered the floor, while snacks and refreshments filled the centre table.

There were more people than he’d expected; his family, and the Elves – even Woopy had quickly popped into the room, still whisking a bowl, to cheer for him – even his friends were there, with their families. Hope and Wesley waved at him, from where they stood next to Moony, a drink in hand and wide smiles on their faces. Even Professor McGonagall was smiling at him from a chair near Sirius.

He blinked. “I – you’re all here!”

“Of course we are – you’re the one who’s late.” Neville grinned as he raced over to give him a tight hug. Harry was sure his ribs were creaking. “Happy birthday, little brother.” Neville whispered in his ear.

“Hey, I want another one!” Astoria cried, worming her way between the two of them until she had her arms wrapped around Harry once again. The two of them laughed, and Neville backed away with his hands up in surrender. He gave Astoria a squeeze and rocked the two of them side to side.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” Tracey laughed, gently tugging on one of the strands of hair that had come loose since his meeting with Wesley. She gave him a quick hug, complete with a squeeze that threatened to break his shoulders.

He was glad that Astoria chose that moment to extricate herself from him, for a moment after she did, a brown-haired missile barrelled into him, threatening to send him tumbling to the floor if not for Tracey steadying him with her hands as she laughed. “Happy birthday!” Hermione cried into his chest, though it was muffled by both his doublet and her hair. She squeezed his poor, battered ribs before she quickly let go, a pink tint to her cheeks.

“Hello.” He chuckled, before looking at everyone else in the room. “Hello everyone else. I hope there’s no more hugs because I don’t think I could manage any more.” He grimaced, wincing as the room chuckled collectively.

Sirius stepped forward and gently led him to one of the nearby sofas; it was dark, somewhere between dark grey and black, and trimmed with silver thread around each cushion. One by one, he watched as wrapped gifts were placed by Dobby, his bright green eyes practically glowing as he danced from foot to foot.

The first he picked up, or rather, was shoved into his hands, was a small parcel, wrapped in silver, shimmering wrapping paper. The dangling tag had Augusta Longbottom’s sweeping script going from left to right, wishing him a happy birthday.

He opened it carefully, including the box that the paper covered, and grinned at the trio of pump-action bottles that were as large as his fist. He looked up at the stern-looking woman, glad to see just the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “Thanks, Augusta – I was nearly out.”

“Every wizard should smell acceptable, young man. And I happen to know they’re your favourite.” She said with a wink, sipping from the small wineglass in her hand. He placed the box of aftershave down, the clear glass bottles clinking together, even as the amber liquid caught the sun through the window.

Dobby handed him the next gift, this one clearly marked to have been from Hermione’s parents. Once the wrapping paper was removed, he was delighted to see a toiletries bag, complete with accompanying hair and body products.

“Thank you.” He smiled at them, holding it close as he placed it to the side.

“Not a problem – it’s not much, but it never hurts to have some extra shower gel.” John nodded at him, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Jean picked out the fragrances.”

“Happy birthday, Harry.” Jean smiled.

The next was a large envelope, and he watched as Tracey’s parents stood a little taller out of the corner of his eye. Inside was a simple card, which he read first, and laughed at the picture on the front; a picture of Merlin riding a broom so fast, his robes went up over his head and revealed his underwear. Inside the card, however, was the gift – a seasonal pass to watch the _Holyhead Harpies_.

“Thank you!” He beamed at the two of them, his fingers tracing over the thin, egg-shell coloured card.

“Thought you might want to see some of the pro’s in action – Gwenog keeps improving each season.” Evelyn smirked, winking at him.

“ _Mum_!” Tracey sighed, exasperatedly, bumping her with her shoulder. Everyone laughed, and Harry accepted the next gift with a small, thankful nod to Dobby.

This one was a book, and he had no need to ask who had gotten it for him, from Neville’s smug grin in the corner. _Herbology For Squibs_ was stamped proudly on the brown leather front cover, and again on the spine. Small, thin vines of gold stretched like long, twisting fingers to the bottom of the cover to the top, wrapping around the title.

“Happy birthday, Harry.” Neville laughed, clutching his stomach. There was a quiet murmur of confusion around the room until Harry rolled his eyes and showed them all the book – Sirius’s barking laugh was the loudest among the ensuing laughter.

“You realise, that this means war, right?” He asked, mockingly glaring at the boy across from him. “Thanks, Neville.”

The next present was from Lispy, who clutched it to her chest when Dobby went to take hold of it. With a huff, Lispy tipped her nose in the air imperiously, brushed past the confused House Elf and planted the gift directly in Harry’s lap herself. He laughed as she did so and hugged her into his side as she hopped up onto the sofa beside him, her little feet kicking absently.

It turned out to be a knitted blanket; one of the sigil and colours of his House, with the wolf in the middle, only it wasn’t alone. There was also a number of little figures walking beside it; clearly House Elves, the wolf had green eyes and a pair of recognisable scars.

“So I always be with you, Master Harry.” Lispy murmured into his side as he hugged her tightly. “Even when you gets too big to stay here.” She added with a whisper.

“I love it, Lispy.” He said, kissing the top of her head. Lispy remained where she was while the other Elves, minus Dobby, edged forward – Milpy was holding a large box in her hands. He took the gift slowly and pulled them all in for a hug, even Kreacher, when he saw that it was a large, deluxe box of Sugar Quills. “You all spoil me rotten.” He said, his arms wrapped around them. Even Woopy was there, still awkwardly stirring something in a bowl.

“Master Potter be liking sweet things.” Kreacher grumbled, averting his eyes, and wringing his hands. “Kreacher be the one that suggested it.”

“Well, I love it – thank you.”

“Oo, do mine! Do mine!” Astoria cried, hopping up and down excitedly in her place by her parents. “It’s the little one, just there!”

Harry picked up the gift that Astoria was pointing at – it was small and felt sturdy in his hand. When the paper was removed, revealing a smooth, black picture frame, he gasped at what he saw. There, in the familiar interior of _Ollivanders_ was Astoria, bonding with her wand. The picture was animated, and he could see the joy on her face as her magic swirled around her excitedly.

“This is amazing!” He grinned, looking over to the younger girl, who proudly flicked a wand into her hand and held it up for him to see.

“Thunderbird Tail Feather, and twelve-and-a-half inches of Fir.” She grinned at him. “You were at school, so I thought…” She trailed off, before darting across the room and tackling him. He laughed as he fell back and wrapped his arms around her as she giggled.

“Astoria!” Thalia sighed, though when Harry peeked around the dark head of hair that had been obstructing his vision, he could see the amused grin on both her parents faces. By his feet, Piper pounced on the pile of wrapping paper and tore at it with his teeth. As Astoria released him, he shifted over in the seat, nudging Lispy along as he did, to make room. The youngest Greengrass happily slid in beside him, the skirt of her dress piling up around her and making her look like she was sat atop a cloud.

The next gift was a simple, hexagonal box that was expertly wrapped in wrapping paper that shifted colour every few seconds, and for a moment, he was completely mesmerised by it – it went from silver, to a deep blue, to the most vivid green. It was gorgeous. He let Astoria help him unwrap the gift and grinned at the sight of a deluxe box of _Honeyduke’s Finest Confectionary_. He looked up at both Wesley and Hope on the far side of the room. “Thanks!”

“Just remember to pace yourself – I’d catch Hell from Poppy if you rot your teeth at school.” Hope winked, leaning into Wes, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders lazily. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

Dobby’s gift came next – a pair of hand-knitted socks, one in each of the colours of his House, with the prowling wolf on them. Within moments, he had his boots off, and his new socks on – the cotton was soft against his skin, and they were warm. He smiled at Dobby and pulled the Elf into a tight hug, the quiet sniffles only just audible. “Thanks Dobby, I love them.”

“Dobby always be making sure Master Harry Potter Sir has socks. Socks be Dobby’s favourite.”

Castor and Thalia stepped up to him then, and Harry watched with curious eyes as Castor puffed his chest out a little – something he saw Daphne roll her eyes at out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve been good for Daphne, and a _menace_ when it comes to Astoria.” He winced as Thalia slapped him gently in the stomach, and Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand to stop himself from laughing as Castor visibly deflated.

“What my dear husband _means_ to say,” Thalia said with a put-upon sigh, despite the rumbling chuckles around the room. “Is that we both wish you a happy birthday. However, we couldn’t quite fit your gift into the room.”

“I-“ Harry blinked, leaning back. “Beg pardon?”

“Your Stallion, Arlan – he’s one of ours. We’d like to offer you a Mare for him.”

He felt his jaw drop, and he blinked dumbly, while Astoria squealed happily at his side, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down in the cushion. “Oh, Mya would be perfect for him!” She cried.

“Mya would bully him out of his own stall.” Daphne scoffed.

“She’s strong-willed.” Astoria retorted primly.

“I don’t know what to say.” Harry exhaled. “I – _thank you_.”

The two stepped back to their place quietly, only to be replaced by Daphne, who passed the gift first to Dobby, and then Dobby passed it to him. “I thought you might appreciate this more than most.” Daphne said as he opened the paper. It was another book, and, like Neville’s, it made him roll his eyes and glare at his friend, who smirked at him.

He turned the book so the entire room could see it. It was a beautiful crimson leather, with silver detailing. On the front and the spine was the title: _One-hundred-and-one ways to survive your heroic urges_ , by a wizard called _Jonothor Darry_.

“Thanks, Daph.” He snorted, as everyone chuckled. “It’ll become my new holy book.”

“See that it does, Potter.” She nodded, leaning forward to give him a quick hug. “I can’t go teasing you about how pretty you are if you get yourself killed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, tugging on one of her loose strands of hair. “I’ll get you back for this.”

Daphne snorted as she straightened and rolled her eyes. “I’ve nothing to fear from a _Gryffindor_.”

“Hey!” Neville huffed, folding his arms. “We could be offended at that!”

“Oh please, you’re the most _Gryffindor_ Gryffindor’s at the school.” Susan snickered, covering her mouth with her hand. “ _Everyone_ knows it.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Sirius huffed with a pout.

“There, there, dear.” Amelia soothed him, patting him gently on the cheek. “You just don’t know any better, is all. We don’t hold it against you.”

Remus’s gift followed – another book, only this one was something priceless and precious. The moment he saw the gold filigree on the black leather cover, Harry’s eyes widened and darted between his two guardians.

“There’s no way!” He breathed, his fingers tracing the lettering.

“What is it?” Augusta asked with a frown, setting her glass down on the table at her side.

Harry turned it over in his hands and showed it to the room at large.

“ _Sirius Orion Black_!” Amelia shouted, swatting her husband on the shoulder.

“Oh, _Merlin_ , no!” Wesley moaned, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, while Hope laughed, clutching her stomach.

On the front cover, in bold, golden letters, were the words, _Marauder’s Compendium_ – Harry knew the book, of course. He’d seen it multiple times over the years, sitting on one of the shelves behind Remus’s desk, getting thicker year by year as it was added to.

It was the manifesto of the Marauders; all of their greatest pranks, from the initial idea, to the inevitable execution, all detailed in one, _glorious_ book.

“I didn’t do anything!” Sirius cried, holding his hands up in surrender. “Remus gave him the bloody book!”

“I know a _Sirius Black_ idea when I see one.” McGonagall huffed, straightening her skirt.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, peering at the book from her place next to her parents. “The Marauder’s were your dad’s friend group, right? They did pranks?”

“Hey!” Sirius huffed. “That’s like saying _magic sparkles_!”

“They were pranksters, Miss Granger. Some grew up, while others,” McGonagall paused as her eyes travelled up and down Sirius. “ _plateaued_.”

The room laughed, and Harry couldn’t help but revel in the crimson flush that overcame Sirius – even Lispy was giggling into her hands as she leaned into his side. “Alright, alright, enough of that.” Sirius muttered with a pout, though the corner of his lips twitched. “I’d best see some use out of that this year, Harry.” He added with a pointed look in his direction.

“Rule number one.” Harry nodded with a grin.

Susan stepped forward with a box – it was wrapped in golden paper and had a black bow on the top. He eyed it with no small amount of amusement and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, shut up.” She huffed, though she smiled, nonetheless.

He accepted it carefully, and gently unwrapped the present – though he handed the bow to Astoria, who promptly leaned over him to plant the bow on Lispy’s head. The gift, as it turned out, was a brilliant mahogany box, with a hinged lid on the top. When he lifted the lid, soft, soothing music began to play. The soft tune instantly relaxed him, and he could feel a light wash of magic pass over him.

“It’s charmed to relax you. I thought you might like it when you’re doing your homework.” Susan offered, biting her bottom lip.

“I love it – thank you.” He grinned, closing the lid carefully and passing it to Lispy who placed it next to her on the sofa. “I think I’ll have to set it up in the Common Room whenever I’m writing essays.” He added with a smile, and he caught Hermione’s little excited smile out of the corner of his eye.

Minerva was next, passing a small book-shaped parcel to Dobby, who diligently passed it on to Harry. The wrapping paper was tartan, of course, but inside was a _first edition_ copy of _A Wizard’s First Duel_ , by _Rupert Grafton_. Harry blinked as his mouth opened but no sound came out. He looked at McGonagall and tried to form the words, but, again, nothing came out.

“I think he’s actually been rendered mute.” Remus snickered, causing Harry’s mouth to snap shut with an audible click.

“That’ll be the day.” Sirius chortled, winking at him, despite the glare he directed between the two men. He opened the book up and glanced at the first page, his fingers tracing over the smooth pages. There, in swooping script was a message, to _him_! He looked up at McGonagall again, his eyes wide.

“We attended Hogwarts together – he owed me a favour. Happy birthday, Harry.”

He passed it carefully to Lispy, who placed it atop the book from Remus, gently shooing Piper away when he wandered too closely and sniffed at the pile curiously. Dobby appeared before him after that, carrying a simple, square box wrapped in _Slytherin Green_ wrapping paper in his hands.

“Oo, that’s mine!” Tracey cried, bouncing on the spot excitedly and clapping her hands. He opened it slowly, his eyes cautiously darting between the box in his lap, and the dark-haired girl across the room that he _knew_ liked dangerous creatures – she could be just as bad as Hagrid at times.

He peered over the lip of the box and was surprised to see a pewter Basilisk staring back at him, its mouth wide with a small blade through the roof of its mouth. He picked it up carefully, his fingers trailing over the finely engraved detail. It was an almost exact copy of Ruhxu.

“I offered a memory of it to the man at the shop.” Tracey said as he looked to her. “I wanted it to be just right.”

“It’s brilliant, thank you.”

“Oh, I know.” She grinned, tucking her arms behind her back as the room chuckled their amusement. Hermione’s was next, judging by how she was nervously chewing on her bottom lip and having to almost hold herself physically in place next to her parents. Dobby handed it to him after Harry placed the statue back into the box and Lispy took it from him.

The wrapping paper was perfectly wrapped, of course, and the tape she’d used to hold it all together was neat, and all looked to be the same length. He opened it slowly and grinned at his friend at what he found inside.

It was a sturdy looking oak box – not too tall that it was cumbersome, but squat enough that it could comfortably be tucked under an arm. In gold lettering on the top of the hinged lid were the words, _Fleetwood’s Broom Servicing Kit_. He peered inside, noting a large jar of the finest polish money could buy, a pair of gleaming silver clippers, a tiny brass compass for long journeys, and a handbook for maintaining a broom for beginners. “Hermione, this is brilliant.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He grinned, gently closing the lid. “Where did you find it? I’ve been looking for one for _ages_.”

“Oh, they just started doing mail-orders – I saw an advert in the _Daily Prophet_ and thought you might like it.”

“You’d best learn how to look after your broom if we’re to win the Cup this year, Mister Potter.” McGonagall said archly. “Can’t have you on a broom that isn’t properly maintained. It could be a repeat of your first year.”

“Oh, _God_ , don’t remind me!” Hermione moaned, burying her face into her mother’s side.

“Of course not, Professor.” He muttered, clearing his throat awkwardly as Sirius and Amelia stepped forward.

“Alright, so one is from the two of us, and the other is from House Black, _officially_.” Sirius said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “Let’s get the stuffy one out of the way first, shall we?”

Sirius handed him a small box-shaped gift about half the length of his arm and passed it to him with an excited grin. “Why am I suddenly nervous?” Harry asked, warily.

“I’m honestly hurt and affronted you’d feel that way.” Sirius huffed, while Amelia nudged him with her hip. “Open it up – and none of that slow, neat stuff; really go at it!”

Harry laughed and shredded the paper while Piper placed his head in Astoria’s lap next to him, his eyes following the pieces of paper as they trailed to the floor. Beneath the wrapping paper with the darting, Golden Snitches, was a fine, velvet box with the stamp of House Black on the top of the lid in brilliant silver.

He opened it on silent hinges and gasped at what lay inside. It was a wand holster, made of the finest dragon-hide he’d ever seen, and trimmed with fine, milky-white Mithril detailing that shimmered and almost _glowed_ in the warm light of the room. Astoria gasped at his side and leaned in closer to see, her dark hair tickling his nose.

“Try it on!” Astoria gasped, quickly shoving the box into his chest and bouncing in the cushion. He pulled the sleeve of his doublet up and unclasped the leather holster he’d always used since he’d bought his wand. It slid out of the old holster easily and fit perfectly into his new one. Within moments, it was wrapped around his forearm snugly, and he barely felt it at all.

“It feels perfect.” He muttered, flexing his arm this way and that before he flicked his wand in and out of his hand. “Thank you.”

“And now,” Amelia said, taking a large, thin parcel from one of the Elves that popped into the roof carrying it. “This is from the two of us.”

Harry had to get off the sofa to unwrap it – it was half as tall as he was, and wide enough for him to stretch both of his arms out to touch the sides. He tore the paper off carefully and gasped at the familiar sight before him. There, nestled between the two great forks of the _Dau Godwm_ , was _Arpton Keep_.

It was a beautiful, animated watercolour. Small birds flew from one side to another, and golden rays of sunshine lit the pale stone. The water was clear, and the banners of his House flapped in the breeze as they hung proudly from the ramparts. His friends rushed around him, gasping at the sight on the canvas.

“Where _is_ that? It looks _gorgeous_!” Tracey murmured, and Harry shared a look with both Daphne and Neville, before glancing at Sirius and Amelia who nodded almost imperceptibly.

“It’s my home – _Arpton Keep_.” He breathed with a rush of air – _Merlin_ , that had felt good. He felt his magic swirl around him for a moment before settling, like a layer of dust on the surface of his skin. It tingled and threatened to send shivers down his spin.

“That’s _yours_?” Tracey gasped, and looked between himself and the painting with wide eyes.

“It’s _beautiful_.” Hermione whispered, her eyes darting back and forth in wonder, trying to take it all in. “What’s that patch of forest there called?” She asked, pointing to the treeline just visible in the distance.

“That’s _Potter’s Wood_ , it stretched all the way up to _Potterton_.” He flushed as they both looked at him. “Hey, _I_ didn’t name them!”

“Where is it?” Hermione asked, edging a little closer to him – with a deep breath, Harry realised how close their knees were.

“It’s uh-“

“Hidden by magic.” Sirius said, startling Harry so much he almost fell back. “That’s all he can tell you, I’m afraid – it’s for the protection of those that live there.”

“Come on you, stop being nosy.” Jean grinned as she helped Hermione to her feet.

“But _Mum_! It’s _fascinating_!” Hermione pouted with an apologetic look to Harry – Tracey, likewise, was shuffled off by her parents. He gave Sirius a thankful nod and felt his shoulders sag.

“The last thing we have for you,” Sirius began, kneeling down beside him in front of the painting. “is from someone that couldn’t be here.” He said, pulling out a small, thin, nondescript box that was covered in a soft felt and had golden hinges.

“Who?” Harry asked with a frown, his fingers trailing over the warm surface. There was magic within the box, and it felt… familiar.

“Arcturus.”

Harry’s head snapped up at the softly spoken word, but it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear – all knew of Arcturus’s death; he knew Hermione had written to her parents over the whole thing, as they’d passed on their sympathies through their daughter at the time. To have a reminder of the man sitting in the palm of his hand – it suddenly felt a lot heavier than it had a moment before.

He opened the lid slowly, the wood creaking painfully in the heavy silence of the room. There, sat on a bed of onyx velvet, was a pure silver pendant. It was a wolf, no longer than the knuckle of his thumb to the tip of the nail, and a serpent was wound around it, with its tiny head resting on the wolf’s snout.

His fingers brushed it, and he took a shuddering breath at just how _warm_ it was. It thrummed with the feeling of Arcturus’s magic, and Harry almost sobbed at the familiar feeling; he had never expected to feel its like again.

“Here.” Sirius said, his fingers gently picking the gift out of the box and draping it around his neck. “This is the only place it belongs. Now, he’s always with you.”

“I don’t-“ Harry tried, furiously trying to blink away the tear that threatened to leak out of his eye. “ _How_ -“

“Arcturus had it made for you in October – he thought you might appreciate feeling us with you. We were all supposed to imprint a bit of our magic on it, but, well, it didn’t seem right, somehow, after everything.” Sirius said, gently helping him to his feet.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” Amelia said, smoothing his hair and cupping his cheek with her hand.

“Well, that certainly beat _mine_.” Astoria huffed as he felt her arms wrap around his middle. Harry let out a surprised laugh and hugged the girl to him even tighter, not caring about the groaning of his ribs as she squeezed back.

It was like a dam had burst, and suddenly everyone in the room was laughing, clutching onto the nearest person in the hope that they wouldn’t topple over or fall out of their seats. Harry watched as more than one person wiped away a tear or two. He touched the pendant and smiled to himself as the familiar magic wrapped around his own.

“Come on,” Sirius said as the room quieted down. “why don’t you give your guests a tour.”

Harry nodded slowly as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He glanced at his friends and gestured for them to follow him, each of them gently nudged forward by their respective guardians, though Astoria remained steadfastly at his side.

He stepped into the hallway and smiled as Hermione appeared first, her eyes flitting all around her as she took in the wide corridor with the various portraits staring down at them. No doubt it all looked very different from the brief time she’d seen it all before at the wedding.

Neville and Susan were next, murmuring quietly to one another – when Harry glanced at his friend curiously, all he got in return was a cheeky grin that made him roll his eyes.

Tracey and Daphne were the last to leave the room, both patting down their skirts. Where Daphne wore a dress, Tracey wore a loose, black dress over a white, short-sleeved t-shirt. Of all the girls, it was only Hermione that wasn’t in a dress – instead, she wore a checked shirt that was tucked into a pair of high-waisted jeans and a pair of comfortable-looking trainers.

“So, where does the tour start?” Neville asked, making Harry scoff, even as his hand gently clasped the pendant that hung from around his neck. “Do we have to pay?”

“You’re supposed to be nice to me today.” Harry huffed, looking to both Tracey and Hermione. “Where do you want to start?”

“Oh, can we see Arlan again? Please, Harry? Pretty please?” Astoria begged with wide eyes. “He’ll be lonely.”

“Arlan?” Hermione blinked, tilting her head slightly.

“Harry’s horse – he’s the best. Not as good as Mya though, but still really fun.”

“You have a horse?” Tracey asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Aye – Sirius got him for me a few years ago. I guess we start there?” He sighed, already resigned to the fact Arlan was likely to act more like a peacock than a horse for the rest of the day. “Oh, come on then.”

He led the small group through the house, while Susan, Daphne, and Neville each pointed out little things to both Hermione and Tracey as they made their way through. Occasionally, they’d pause for Hermione to inspect a portrait, or peer at a vase that she found particularly interesting.

He took them out through the kitchen, waving at a busy Woopy, and before long, they were crossing the gravel to the stable. He heard Arlan before he saw him; his horse was moving around his stall, probably chewing on some dry hay – after a moment, the slate-coloured head popped out of the stall and turned to look at them, even as his ears twitched every few seconds.

“He’s _beautiful_!” Tracey gushed, rushing over to him, and running her hand gently down his face.

“Mya’s prettier.” Astoria huffed, though she quickly skipped over to the horse and scratched him under the chin.

Susan, Daphne, and Neville were content to quietly chat to one another – after all, they’d all met Arlan plenty of times, though Susan’s experience was limited to the last month. Hermione remained steadfastly at his side, seemingly torn between greeting the horse and admiring from a distance.

“He won’t bite, you know.” He said quietly, nudging Hermione with his shoulder. “He only eats mean people. Or the occasional Phoenix.”

“You’re terrible.” She answered with a small smile, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. “Clara is _lovely_.”

“You don’t have her waking you up in a morning.” He grunted. “She’s not afraid to pick me out of the bed – _literally_.”

“She has _character_.”

“Character, my arse.” He muttered with a huff, ignoring the gentle backhand Hermione gave his stomach.

“ _Language_ , Harry. Birthday or not.”

“Yes Professor Granger.” He snickered, nudging her shoulder again. “Go on, say hello.” He said, smiling. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched Hermione as she edged forward, closer, and closer to his steed. Tracey and Astoria spotted her, the two of them shifted to the side, while Arlan became as still as a statue, and watched her with his large, dark eyes.

Hermione raised a shaky hand and gently placed it between Arlan’s eyes, as her own widened, and her mouth formed an O. Neville, Daphne, and Susan all appeared at his sides silently, all of their eyes trained on the girls and the horse.

“You know Astoria’s going to ask you to let her ride him.”

“I know.” He chuckled, glancing at Daphne. “What about you?”

“I think you know me better than that.” She retorted primly, clasping her hands before her with a huff. “I’m not dressed appropriately.”

“Coward.” Neville snickered, wincing as Daphne poked him in the side. “Alright, alright, _Merlin_!”

“It’s weird, you know – seeing you all out of school.” Susan hummed. Harry looked at her, arching a brow curiously. “You’re all rather intimidating at Hogwarts, you know.”

“Blame Daphne; she’s terrifying.” Neville muttered, grasping his side, and hissing as Daphne poked him again. “Bloody stop that!”

“Stop talking shit, Longbottom!”

“ _Language_!” Hermione called from where she was fussing over Arlan. Harry laughed, despite Daphne’s glare in his direction, and Astoria and Tracey’s giggling.

“Thank you, by the way.” Harry said, nudging Susan with his elbow.

“What for?”

“Arranging everything, inviting people, letting Dobby help.”

“It was a pleasure.” She smiled. “Besides, they’re your friends.” She added with a shrug.

“Dobby?” He called, and the little House Elf appeared before him with a small pop; his large eyes looking up at his excitedly. “Can you get me Arlan’s saddle?”

“Yes Master Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby nodded excitedly before disappearing.

“ _Merlin_ , you’re not going to actually let her ride him, are you?” Daphne groaned, tipping her head back in exasperation. “She’s going to be _impossible_!”

“Oh, let her have her fun.” Neville grinned, passing Harry the bridle from the rack, the two metal rings clinking together.

Harry chuckled to himself as he made his way over to the stall, with the girls quickly moving out of the way, though Astoria started bouncing on the spot excitedly and clapping her hands – it was moments like this that he was really glad that Piper wasn’t around; even though Piper was so much smaller than his horse, he wouldn’t want him to be spooked.

Dobby appeared at his side, causing Hermione to squeak loudly and jump back – he tried to keep the amusement off of his face, but if the glare he received was anything to go by, he’d failed miserably.

He unlocked the door to the stall, and gently, but firmly, cupped Arlan’s jaw – the two of them had long since passed the need for anything more than a guiding hand when it came to saddling Arlan up. The clopping of Arlan’s hooves on the flagstones rang out throughout the stable, and he chuckled as Astoria ran her hand along Arlan’s flank as they passed.

“Behave.” Harry muttered, waving a finger between his horse’s eyes. “You’ll get to show off in a minute.”

Arlan huffed and blew air in his face, which made Astoria, Hermione, and Tracey giggle. He rolled his eyes and quickly grabbed the light grey blanket from the rack and threw it over Arlan’s back, making sure it was even and in the right spot. Once that was on, and he was sure there were no hairs from his mane beneath the fabric, he had Dobby pass him the saddle, which, again, he made sure nothing was caught beneath, and that everything was as comfortable as possible.

He secured the saddle with quick, practiced flicks of his fingers. The last thing to be secured was the bridle, which Arlan pushed his head into without complaint, wrapping his leathery lips around the bit, while Harry checked that none of the straps would choke him. With the bridle secure, and none of his mane caught beneath the straps, Arlan was ready to ride.

Picking up the reins, Harry led Arlan to a mounting box, which Astoria quickly scrambled onto. Arlan was a large horse; so tall in fact, that Harry couldn’t actually see _over_ his back if he was standing beside him – he’d likely need a mounting box for years more.

He held Arlan steady as Astoria mounted the saddle, her dress pooling up around her and revealing the breeches and boots she wore beneath it. Tracey and Neville snickered quietly to themselves while Daphne huffed audibly.

“Alright, you be careful, and you stay where we can see you – and _on the grass_.” He said, firmly. Astoria nodded quickly, and Harry handed her the reins and stepped clear. “Go on then.” He waved.

Astoria wasted no time, and barely a heartbeat later, Arlan was trotting out of the building with his head held proudly in the air. The six of them that _weren’t_ on the back of a horse followed slowly; even Dobby followed them across the gravel – no doubt he was ready to rush to help if it was needed.

“Hello.” Hermione said, kneeling down next to Dobby. “We haven’t met – I’m Hermione Granger.” She smiled, holding her hand out to Dobby.

Dobby looked between Hermione, her hand, and Harry, who gave him a little nod. “She won’t bite.” He grinned.

Harry watched Dobby tentatively take Hermione’s hand as his hand slowly crept to worry the thin flesh of one of his ears. “I be Dobby, Miss, _Her-my-oh-nee_?”

“ _Hermione_.” She repeated with a nod. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dobby; _properly_ , that is.”

“Miss _Hermione_.” Dobby repeated with more confidence. “It be pleasure to meet the Miss Hermione Granger – must bes _great_ witch to know Master Harry Potter, sir; great witch _indeed_.”

Harry chuckled as he watched Hermione blush prettily, while Tracey quickly moved to introduce herself as well. While his friends took turns meeting his Elf, and his newest companion, Harry continued watching as Astoria race back and forth on the open field before him.

Hermione appeared at his side out of the corner of his eye and nudged him with her shoulder. “When did that happen?”

“When did what happen? Oh, you mean Dobby?”

“He’s the one that cursed The Bludger, right?”

He nodded with a grimace as he folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah. He used to belong to the _Malfoy_ ’s – I tricked Lucius into freeing him; it’s why he likes socks so much.” He grinned, proudly. “I found him at the start of the month, his magic fading away, and he looked like skin and bone.”

“His magic was _fading_?” Hermione gasped, a hand darting to her mouth as her wide eyes darted to the Elf that was currently in the process of being tickled by both Susan and Tracey. “ _The poor thing_!”

“House Elves have an awful time of it.” He shrugged. “For whatever reason, they need a bond to survive. Hogwarts has a small army of Elves bonded to it, you know.”

“What if they’re mistreated?” Hermione huffed, scowling. “Who steps in then?”

“It’s not something you can really police – there’s no way to know what happens in someone’s home every second of every day. Sirius is supposed to propose some rights to help protect them more next month; hopefully, it does something.”

“Is there anything I can do?” She asked, looking to Dobby with a worried frown as she nibbled her lip.

“Not much either of us can do.” He shrugged with a sigh. “Sirius likes to keep reminding me we’re just kids. He’s not wrong, you know.” He added with a scoff.

Hermione pursed her lips and let out a long sigh. “I _hate_ not being a grown up. I feel _useless_.”

The two were quiet for a moment, and Harry continued to glance at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t think you are.” He said, “Useless, I mean.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’d be dead if not for you – I’ve even stopped counting now.”

“Oh, shut up.” Hermione mumbled, blushing. “I don’t do much.”

“You do more than most would or could.” He replied with a small smile. “Did you know you were the first person, outside of Neville and Daphne, obviously, that thought about my parents?”

“Surely-“

“On the boat, in first year.” Harry continued, nudging her with his elbow and leaning toward her slightly, ignoring how his elbow felt like it was tingling. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget that, by the way. Then you sat with me after the Troll, set Snape on fire-“

“ _Professor_.” She whispered with wide eyes.

“-solved the riddle, stuck by me after Draco, and worked out Ruhxu was a Basilisk. All the while staying the smartest witch in the school – you, Hermione, are anything _but_ useless.”

Harry’s eyes were forced from Hermione as Arlan and Astoria trotted up to them, and he couldn’t help but laugh at just how windswept Astoria looked; her hair stuck up at all angles, pulled loose from the up-do in all of her fun. “That was so much fun!” Astoria cried happily, panting.

“He always enjoys running.” Harry grinned, taking the reins from Astoria as he helped her down, though truthfully, it felt more like she fell out of the saddle and into his arms. “ _Gods_ , Astoria, warn me next time.”

“That’s no fun.” She huffed before throwing her arms around him again. “Thank you Harry!”

Harry chuckled as he gave Astoria a squeeze, before his eyes found Hermione again, who was smiling softly at him. It made his stomach do that strange thing again. “You’re up next, Granger.”

“What – no, I can’t – I don’t-“ She stuttered as the colour drained from her face.

He grinned, holding out his hand to her. “Trust me.”


	40. Harry XXVII

He breathed in deeply through his nose, concentrating on the swirling magic he felt within his breast before exhaling just as slowly; in and out, in and out until it became a mantra. His magic swirled around him, ghosting every surface of his room, from the large canopy bed, to the ink-stained desk, and even the large, open doors to the stone balcony.

His senses pushed past the room like a wave, cascading out into the cool air that surrounded Arpton – all around him, he could feel those men and women that lived and worked at the castle. He could feel the Men-At-Arms in the training yard, and Marshal Sulyard as she drilled them in combat.

He could feel Clara as she soared between the towers of the castle, trailing yellow-orange flames in her wake. He grinned as he brushed her mind and shared her joy and exhilaration in his joining her. He stayed with her as she climbed higher and higher into the clouds before diving down.

From his place in the back of her mind, he could feel the air whistling through her feathers, and the small tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes as the cool air buffeted her face. He laughed as she spread her wings and she slowed down almost instantly, soaring on the gentle breeze that came from the mountains to the south-east.

With her heightened sense of smell, he could also smell the nearby city of Cochenwaith – the musty scent of human sweat and grime and the wonderful aromas of cooked meat and fresh bread. He continued with Clara for a time, revelling in how simple life was for his companion – there were no greater cares than his own safety, _that_ and where the next meal would be found.

He withdrew from Clara, giving her mind a gentle caress so as to not startle the magnificent bird, and pulled his senses back to his own body, keeping his eyes closed. Rather than pushing and reaching out with his magic, like he did to reach out to Clara, he withdrew into himself, burrowing deeper and deeper.

His magic welcomed him, and while he was wary of it, he accepted the invitation with barely a moment’s hesitation. He allowed his magic to lead him, guide him down paths that were familiar, and yet, at the same time, weren’t.

Images flashed through his mind – some were fresh and clear, while others were hazy from the passage of time. There was no organisation to the white, ethereal wisps as they wafted by him on a breeze he couldn’t feel; occasionally, he’d reach out and brush his fingers through them, shivering as his magic danced along his spine.

Yet, his magic continued to move on, winding this way and that as it led him on a merry chase. For how long he continued, he couldn’t say, only that when he did eventually stop, he found himself staring up at a familiar canopy, with a Phoenix and a Snowy Owl bickering over who got to sit on the thick branch high above them.

A laugh escaped him as he raised his fingers before him and pointed at the two birds high above. The grass tickled his cheek as he turned to look at the person beside him; they were so close that their shoulders were almost touching. She wore a high-necked, sleeveless black top that was tucked into high-waisted jeans that hugged the figure of her legs, which were rolled up to her mid-calf. Plain, white trainers were on her feet, and the laces were tied neatly – perfectly, even. Her hair was tied back in a neat bun at the back of her head, with the occasional strand having come loose to frame her face. Small, silver earrings dangled and swayed lazily with each movement she made, and a thin, matching silver necklace pooled at the hollow of her neck.

He blinked as she looked at him, the light dancing across her face as the leaves high above swayed this way and that, and the steady trickling of the nearby stream provided a constant background to their incessant giggling.

For a moment, he was struck entirely dumb – his mouth worked, but no sound escaped. He could feel his cheeks warming, and he quickly looked away. A hand wrapped itself around his wrist – the fingers were soft, delicate, and warm. He breathed out slowly and looked back at her; Hermione was smiling at him. It wasn’t a toothy smile; her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes and nose were crinkled. It was a small, private thing, just for _him_ , and it made his stomach do uncomfortable things.

“Harry!” The voice called, and he pushed himself up to his elbows; he glanced down at himself and spotted the familiar, well-worn baggy tunic that had come loose of his trousers and had pooled in his lap – his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and little clumps of grass and moss covered his forearms. His eyes darted to the owner of the voice – it was Astoria.

Astoria was perched atop a root of a nearby tree, Piper curled up at her feet and watched him with his curious, amber eyes while his nose twitched this way and that. His mouth opened wide as he yawned, and Astoria scratched him under the chin, which set his thick, bushy tail wagging. Astoria, like himself, was dressed in a simple grey tunic, and black trousers, though her long, dark hair was free, compared to his own, which was tied back. “Neville is being silly again!”

“What’s he done now?” He asked, glancing at his best friend and quirked an eyebrow. Neville rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. Neville was dressed in a brown leather doublet, with black trousers and brown-leather boots.

“I didn’t do anything!” Neville protested before pointing at Tracey. “ _She’s_ the one that threw the moss!”

Harry looked to Tracey, who had the audacity to put on an air of innocence. She wore a long, ankle-length summer dress that hung from her shoulders by two thin straps, and her hair was pulled over one shoulder in a thick, dark mass. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.” She huffed, tipping her nose in the air.

“The picture of innocence, Tracey.” Daphne sighed, flicking the page of her book absently without looking up. Daphne was dressed in one of her many long dresses, though this one was emerald in colour and had small, glistening silver threads decorating the bodice in geometric patterns that made him feel a little dizzy. Her hair was tied high up on her hair, and the long, thick tresses fell past her shoulders and flowed in the gentle breeze.

“Are we _really_ throwing moss?” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes as he glanced up at his two Familiars up in the high branches. “You should know better than to start something with Astoria – she’ll turn it into an all-out war.”

“I’m undefeated.” Astoria grinned broadly, sitting a little taller on her root.

“I think Harry could do with some moss.” Susan said, from the far side of Hermione – he barely had a moment to react before he was pelted from all sides by clumps of moss. Tracey and Astoria were the loudest, with their cackling giggles, and he was shocked to feel some having pelted him from both Neville and Daphne’s directions.

“Hey, hey, cut it out!” He cried, falling back onto the grass, and covering his face with his hands. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but laugh and toss a few blindly back at his attackers. An outraged cry made him briefly freeze and peek out through his arms at the clump of moss that had struck Daphne in the forehead. He swallowed and quickly got to his feet, holding his hands up between him and the irate Greengrass heir in the ensuing silence – even Astoria, in the corner of his eye was ashen faced and still as a statue.

He backed up further when Daphne stood slowly and carefully lay her book down next to where she’d been sitting; her arctic blue eyes were narrowed in his direction as she stalked forward, like a predator closing in on her prey.

“Daphne, let’s just think about this for a moment.” He stammered, backing up and almost tripping over a stone that caught his heel. “Use your words here – you started it.”

She dove at him then, and if it hadn’t been for his years of training and his Quidditch reflexes, he’d have surely been at her mercy. As it was, he managed to duck beneath her hands and dart behind a nearby tree; his hands on either side of the silver birch that was almost as thick as he was wide, and ready to dart in either direction.

His friends were laughing now, cheering on the two of them as Daphne lunged at him once more, snarling as he sprinted through the middle of their little group; Piper yipped excitedly while Astoria cackled and cheered him on. He leapt over the stream, nearly slipping on the far mossy bank, and glanced over his shoulder with wide eyes.

Daphne had her wand out and had cast a quick spell – his own wand snapped into his hand and he was just able to mutter a quick _Protego_ that saved him from getting soaked through by a steady stream of water. “Daphne!” He cried, backing up slowly as she hopped over the stream herself. “It was just a bit of moss, _come on_!”

“You pelted me with moss, Potter.” She hissed, snapping another pair of spells at him – he ducked the first one and batted the second into a nearby tree-trunk. He knew none of the spells were deadly, or even harmful, but he knew an upset Daphne when he saw one, and he wasn’t risking a single one touching him. His friends were quickly making their way across the stream, quietly taking bets on who would win – Hermione, it seemed, was the only one that seemed to actually be worried for him.

“You pelted me first!” He retorted, leaping backward over another spell, tucking his legs into his body as he arced through the air. He landed amongst a small gathering of fallen leaves and grimaced as he stumbled. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just the slightest bit?”

“That was my copy of _Morgana’s Exploits_ you got soil and moss over!”

“Oh, _shit_.” He cursed, slapping a trio of spells to the side with a wince. That was her favourite book – if he’d so much as _marked_ it…

Another spell came at him, and this one he ducked, but he didn’t see the follow-up that she’d cast. A full blast of ice-cold water struck him in the chest, and he found himself thrown back against the tree, his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling from the sudden cold.

Daphne spun away primly, with her nose in the air and a stomp to her steps – their friends parted quickly before hurrying over to him. Neville was the first to him, hoisting him up and patting him down, even as his limbs continued to shake violently. “Come on, you’ll be alright – we’ll get you some warm clothes.”

“Honestly, it’s like you forget you have a wand.” Hermione huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Just use a drying charm.”

“Oh yeah.” Neville said after a moment. “I’d forgotten about that.” Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes as his best friend picked up his wand and cast the simple charm. A warmth spread out over him and he breathed a sigh of relief as his clothes dried.

“Are you alright?” Susan asked, frowning.

“Yeah – didn’t see that last one is all.” He muttered, shaking himself and blinking rapidly. “Come on, let’s see if she’s calmed down. I might need to buy a replacement if that book has so much as a mark.”

Astoria nodded solemnly. “It’s her favourite. I caught her going to sleep with it when she bought it.” She said with a whisper and a cheeky grin. “You can’t tell her though!” She added, eyes wide as the possible consequences of that revelation dawned on her. Harry chuckled and wrapped his arm around Astoria’s small shoulders.

“We won’t say a word – _Neville_ , _Tracey_.” He promised, looking pointedly between the Slytherin and his fellow Gryffindor. He led them down the back and through the shallow stream, hopping from small stone, to small stone and picking a giggling Astoria up over the bank.

Hermione was the last up the bank, and he turned to offer her a hand up. His skin tingled as she gripped his hand, and his stomach twisted and knotted itself when she stumbled on the slippery bank, her other hand, which had been held out to the side for her own balance, snatched at his arm and he chuckled quietly as he helped her up onto more stable ground. When both her feet were firmly planted on the dry, soft soil that seemed perfect for the soft grass and small clumps of moss and clover, the two of them broke apart awkwardly, finding any excuse not to look at one another.

Harry found it difficult – it seemed, outside of school, and the regular day-to-day of Hogwarts, Hermione had transformed. He had always thought she was pretty, and he enjoyed her smile most of all, but it was in Muggle clothes that she always seemed the most comfortable; the most, well, _her_.

He knew that, despite his own, private opinions on how nice she looked in her large, warm jumpers, she never _really_ cared about her appearance; her wardrobe was sensible and practical – reflecting their freezing cold Scottish locale. Fleecy jumpers, warm cardigans, thick scarves, and hats, with matching mittens, and a multitude of hoodies were her usual garb – he thought her pretty _before_ , but _now_ …

He felt a tug, and suddenly the entire scene disappeared in a silvery mist – he knew the memory; it had been the day after his birthday, when he’d taken them all down to the stream that he often took Arlan to. The horse hadn’t joined them then, but once everyone had left, he’d been sure to let the stallion out for a ride and to eat in the field by Remus’s bunker.

His magic continued to lead him around and around, until he found himself in a dark area, surrounded by little pinpricks of light that twinkled pleasantly as his eyes darted about the space. Below his feet, there looked to be nothing, but as he shifted one booted foot, he could see a shimmering surface. It wasn’t quite liquid, but it also wasn’t entirely a solid either.

High above him, a large, swirling mass of violet, cyan, and deep orange formed – he knew what it was, of course; if he didn’t, then Professor Sinistra was likely to string him up by his innards. The nebula was constantly shifting, this way and that, and lighting the area up more and more the longer it remained. Its soft light was relaxing, pleasant and felt warm – he dropped to his knees, slowly, placing his hands flat on his thighs as he continued to look around the space.

How long he remained in that place, he couldn’t tell – his magic swirled around him, building up to crescendo, only to recede like the tide just before it became too much. His hair whipped around his face; it wasn’t tied back like he knew he’d done before settling into his meditation – it was loose, wild, and free. It swatted against the sides of his face as his magic created a tempest around him and hung limply across his shoulders when it receded to nothing more than a faint breeze.

All the while, he felt the world around him – he could feel his bedroom, the people milling about the castle, and the guards that steadfastly remained in the corridor, their staves thrumming with magical energy as their owners quietly murmured to one another.

He snapped his eyes open, only this time he wasn’t in that fantastic, calming place within himself, and he wasn’t reliving a memory of a week past – nor was he even with Clara, soaring through pillowy clouds, ad banking this way and that on the breeze. He was in his room, settled into a similar position, kneeling on the floor with his feet tucked under him and his palms laid flat against his thighs.

His eyes darted around the room – the loose objects orbiting around him like miniature planets stilled, though they spun lazily in the gentle breeze of the room. The door clicked open, and Felix entered, his blue eyes darting around the room much like his own had, but for the amused quirk of his lips behind the full, sandy beard and the crinkling of the corners of his eyes.

“I hope I haven’t interrupted anything, my Lord?” Felix asked, pursing his lips as he clasped his hands before him.

Harry let out a slow breath and drew his magic back into himself – all around him, the furniture of the room, from his canopy bed, to his wardrobes, came to rest of the floor with dull, resounding thuds. The small objects that had been floating around him flew back to his desk – they were little knickknacks, quills, ink pots, envelopes, parchment, and the like.

He pushed himself to his feet with a bit of a grunt and winced as the muscles in his thighs cramped for a moment. “I was just finishing up.” Harry smiled, stretching with his arms above his head.

“I just came to let you know that they’ve finished mounting the skull with the other trophies – I thought you might like to inspect it for yourself?”

“That’s not a bad idea. I could do with the walk anyway.” Harry grunted, feeling his back pop as a brief wave of euphoria swept over him. He held his hand out to his side and smiled to himself as his wand-holster slapped into it. He wore only a thin tunic, and the baggy sleeves were comfortably rolled up around his elbows, so it took barely a moment to strap the holster to his forearm while Felix led the way out of the door.

They walked down the corridor to his personal quarters in silence, only nodding politely to the two guards that he’d sensed toward the end of his meditation; both of whom snapped to attention and returned the nods with a clear, “Mi’lord.”

The steps took no time at all to traverse down, and before he knew it, he was walking out of the main doors to the castle-proper, and approaching the smaller, squat building that housed the trophies of Lords and Ladies past. On the right was the familiar hall of the honoured dead, which led to the Potter crypts – he’d paid his respects upon their arrival a few days ago, and as much as he was tempted to visit his parents again, he knew he shouldn’t. It would do him little good to drown himself in the past.

The building across from it was his intended destination; it was taller by almost two floors than the one across from it, and lush, pale green ivy grew along it interspersed with gorgeous white flowers trailed up along the stone bricks. “Here we are.” Felix said, glancing over his shoulder at him as he pushed open the door.

With a quiet creak, the large oak door swung inward on its steel hinges, and Harry got to see the long, well lit hall once more. Along the right wall were large glass windows, while along the walls were white-marble plinths that held various trinkets and trophies.

Harry stepped into the room first, with Felix holding the door open for him. Unlike the rest of the castle, the floor was tiled with large, smooth, grey marble slabs that soaked up the warm sunlight and reflected it into almost every dark nook and cranny within the room. Above, winding around the edge of the room, were two similar floors, with thick, oak handrails and regular support beams holding them all up.

The clicking of his heels echoed throughout the room, and the dull thud of the door closing behind him preceded the heavier footfalls of Felix as they walked past the various artefacts of his House. His eyes, despite all of the glory and wonder that surrounded him, were glued to the far wall, where the gaping maw of Ruhxu hung.

It took only a minute to traverse the large room, and it was with a clenched jaw and an uncomfortable tenseness in his shoulders that he came to a stop before the large skull – the Dwarves had gilded it in Mithril, and carved their various protection runes into the metal, which would keep it in almost pristine condition for years to come.

He stared up into the empty sockets and let out a deep sigh as he folded his arms across his chest – Felix appeared at his side; his hands clasped behind his back comfortably. “They’ve worked day and night to get it mounted – took a little bit of work because of the size of it, but it’s up.” His favourite guard said quietly. It was just the two of them in the large room, but still – it felt appropriate to keep their voices low.

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am with it all.” He sighed, running a hand down his face tiredly. “I was lucky.”

“Aye, my Lord – you were.” Felix grunted.

“She was insane.”

“You still defeated her – many couldn’t say the same, were they in your position.”

Harry pursed his lips and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I didn’t want to kill her. I mean, I _did_ , before I was down there – she’d hurt a… friend.” Harry paused, clearing his throat as Felix looked at him with a raised brow. “I wanted to make her pay, but when I was down there; she didn’t want to attack me. Truth be told, I’ve felt quite sorry for her since.”

“It does little good to pity the dead.” Felix sighed, gently clasping his shoulder, and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I always find it does more good to pity the living – after all, they’re not the ones with the Gods.”

“Snakes don’t _go_ to the Gods, though.” Harry huffed, shooting the older man a withering look from the corner of his eye.

“Who knows – maybe they have Gods all of their own. At the end of the day, she’s under nobody’s control any longer, and the students and staff of your Hogwarts are safe; is that not what is most important?”

“I suppose.” He huffed, taking a slow step forward until he could brush his hand against the smooth bone of her chin. “It’s just, I don’t know – a shame?” He glanced over his shoulder at Felix. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she won’t hurt anyone ever again, but… It’s a little tragic, don’t you think?”

Felix shrugged. “No more tragic than a twelve-year-old facing a Basilisk – I thought we’d had an agreement about your penchant for danger, hm?”

“Hey, this wasn’t my fault – I wasn’t supposed to know the entrance would seal behind me. Besides, you’ve made me eat the dirt every day since.”

“I suppose I have, my Lord.” Felix chuckled, rocking on his heels as his own hand moved along the bleached white bone alongside his own. Harry rolled his eyes.

“When are you going to get it into your head to call me Harry when we’re in private?” Harry sighed, his fingers lightly tracing a thin band of Mithril before dropping to his side.

“Oh, I would suspect at least once more.” Felix grinned, his blue eyes roving the skull – the many wicked-looking teeth in particular. “Especially now that I’m Head of your Household Guard – thanks for that, by the way.” He added with a displeased grunt.

“You were the best choice.” Harry shrugged, wandering to the plinth beside Ruhxu’s mounted skull. Like all the others, the plinth was smooth, white-marble, and atop a plush, velvety cushion, was a banded crown, adorned with pale sapphires.

There had been a time when it would have been worn with pride – indeed, many of the oldest of the statues in the Potter Crypts had the very likeness carved onto them, and there were many portraits of distant ancestors that had worn it with pride.

He was the last of an old and _powerful_ family – there was something about being in its presence that unnerved him. He had long ago learned of the wars the Potters had waged, mostly in Wales, quelling insurrections, conquering neighbouring lands, and expanding their domain of influence until it was what it was today. The Potters had been kings of their own little kingdom, until one day, they weren’t.

With a deep exhale, Harry stepped away from the crown and gazed about the room as he slowly licked his lips. “Tell me about how he died – nobody’s explained it to me.”

“Who?”

“Ewan Fulmer – your predecessor.”

“There really isn’t that much to tell; he got cursed in the back while we were dealing with a pack of outlaws – I saw it happen myself.” Felix sighed as Harry looked at him, Harry noted his eyes briefly darting to the crown on the plinth. “He was a good man – firm, fair, and good. The Guard is less for his loss.”

“I didn’t have much to do with him.” Harry shrugged, pressing his lips together. He pointed a finger at Felix and glared at him. “You are to watch yourself if you’re ever required to leave the walls of the castle, is that understood?”

“My Lord?”

“I’ll not have to bury you, Felix. You’re both my new Captain, a father, _and_ a friend. I’ve had to deal with death far too much in the past year.”

“I’ll do my best.” Felix smiled, clasping Harry on the shoulder. “You’ll not lose me so easily – I plan to see you grow into old age yet; _despite_ your insistence of putting yourself into the ground well before then.”

“You’d like Hermione.” Harry snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Your Muggle-Born friend?”

“Aye – she appreciated me defeating Ruhxu and making it safe and all of that, but she gave me the _worst_ Hell before we left for the summer.”

“Sounds to me like she’s a smart witch.” Felix chuckled, falling into step as Harry began to wander around the room absently. There were all sorts of trophies, from bleached skulls, to various weapons, and even the occasional piece of armour – usually helmets, but he did recognise a particularly fine Mithril gauntlet, though he had no idea why that piece in particular was valuable as a trophy.

“She is – Daphne and Tracey are too. I think Tracey would like you.” He grinned, glancing at the man that was at his side. Felix chuckled quietly under his breath and shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s not to like?”

“Your habit of beating me into the dirt, for one.” Harry scoffed, bumping his shoulder playfully into Felix’s side. “How’s your wife, and your daughter?”

“Satine is fine, and Alyis just turned two – strong and healthy as always.” Felix chuckled, clasping his hands at the small of his back. “Her magic is beginning to manifest.”

“Anything noteworthy?”

“Too early to tell, but I think she’ll take after Satine than myself – she’ll be fierce and strong.”

“You realise that I’ll spoil her rotten every chance I get?”

“That is your prerogative, my Lord – we’ll just have to make sure you don’t spoil her _too_ much.”

“Speaking of spoiling people rotten, I was thinking of travelling to Cochenwaith tomorrow – I was hoping you’d be able to join us?” Harry asked as they meandered toward the door.

“My entire purpose is to protect you while you’re here – wherever you go, I’ll follow, my Lord.” Felix smiled with a slight bow, while Harry huffed.

“I’d rather you joined us because you _want_ to, not because it’s your job.” He sighed, placing a hand against the metal-studded door. “You’re my friend, Felix, and I enjoy you and your company immeasurably.”

“My Lord,” Felix began softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You drive me to madness with your lack of care for your own safety but believe me when I say that I have never been prouder to serve you.”

Harry grinned and bumped his shoulder gently into Felix’s side. “I’m glad – now come on, we should get things sorted for tomorrow.”

* * *

Harry yawned as he rocked side-to-side in the saddle atop Arlan’s back as they travelled the road from Arpton to Cochenwaith – it was cobbled and relatively empty, but for their party. They had set out early, shortly after breakfast, and they’d already been travelling for an hour.

The sun had slowly risen higher and higher in the sky – it was warm, and the sky was dotted with pleasant, white, fluffy clouds that provided momentary shelter. A complement of guards rode around them in a loose formation, their weapons sheathed, or held as casually as they could be, but all close-by and ready to be used at a moment’s notice should there be need for it.

Felix rode to his right, his staff held loosely in his right hand, with the base resting on the top of the stirrup, while his reins were clutched loosely in his left hand; his eyes scanned the treeline on either side of him, and to the east, beyond the trees, Harry could hear the rushing waters of the river that fed the waterfalls around Arpton.

Sirius and Amelia rode ahead of him; Sirius was dressed in a fine leather doublet, and his hair was neatly tied back, and his goatee freshly trimmed. Amelia wore a dark grey dress, with the serpents of House Black adorning the bodice and skirt – it was sleeveless, though she wore a thin shawl around her shoulders; her hair was loose, but for the small braids that kept her hair from her face.

Remus was dressed in his usual clothing; a simple doublet with the sigil of House Black on it, and he rode to Sirius’s left; the three adults talked amongst themselves, murmuring words that Harry couldn’t quite make out, nor, did he find, did he particularly want to.

Susan rode at _his_ side – she wore a steel-blue dress, though it was highlights with accents of lighter shades, and a matching shawl wrapped around her shoulders, much like Amelia’s. The two of them hadn’t spoken much, outside of Harry pointing out the occasional landmark as their journey progressed quietly. Her eyes were constantly darting about, taking in the sights, which were mostly just the tall trees of Potter’s Wood on either side of the road.

He was excited to visit the nearby city – it was almost as large as the Capitol, though it wasn’t quite so tightly packed. It had sprung up with the construction of Arpton, and he’d only briefly passed it by on his first journey between the Capitol and his ancestral seat the first time he’d visited.

It was surrounded by large, thick walls, and there were a dozen gates, each with their own dedicated Barbican and garrisons. Cochenwaith didn’t have a castle or keep of its own; instead, it fell under the guardianship of Arpton itself, though other cities, like Wolfbury, and Redbrook, which were just a little further south, fell under the protection of Enith’s Hold, the ancestral seat of House Llewellyn.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard.” Susan said, inching her horse a little closer to Arlan. She was a sand-coloured mare, and had a white stripe running down the centre of her head.

“Just thinking about Cochenwaith and a few of the other nearby cities.” Harry said, smiling slightly as he leaned back in the saddle. He glanced up at the familiar cawing of Clara and couldn’t help the grin that split his face.

“She looks like she’s having fun.” Susan giggled.

“Aye, she’s the Queen around here.” Harry chuckled, shifting in the saddle slightly.

“Has my Lord ever told you about what she was like before she matured?” Felix asked, casually, from Harry’s right – Susan leaned forward and raised a curious brow as she looked between the two of them.

“Never.” She smirked slyly as she hooked her loose hair around an ear.

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless as he settled in for Felix’s tale, though, he had to give the man credit; not once did his eyes stop sweeping the nearby treeline. “Oh, she was about the size of a mouse – hideous, ugly little thing that was always perched on his shoulder. A few other guards and I were tasked with accompanying Lord Black, Remus, and my Lord to Arpton – I don’t think she ever let go of his shoulder.”

“That sounds positively adorable.” Susan sighed, grinning at him.

“Oh, shut it.” Harry muttered with a pout.

“She was a hideous little thing – barely any feathers, her eyes were too large for her head, and her beak was all stunted.” Felix chuckled, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh along with them, though he ducked in the saddle slightly when Clara dove at them playfully – she was far too clever for her own good. “Looks like she heard me.” Felix breathed, his eyes darting to the sky for the slightest fraction of a second.

“Proud as a peacock.” Harry grunted, glancing over his shoulder as he watched her bank on the breeze before lazily catching up with the small party. “She matured not long before we got to Arpton.” He said, looking at Susan. “She’s not had a Burning Day since – though, the _Chamber_ nearly forced one.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, with a frown.

“Did Sirius or Amelia not tell you?” Harry blinked, surprised, before he awkwardly cleared his throat. “I took a fang from Ruhxu through the arm, just here.” He said, shifting his arm so he could tap the doublet sleeve where she had caught him. “Clara healed me – Phoenix Tears can heal just about anything, but they take a lot out of the birds.”

“And they won’t cry for just anyone.” Felix added quietly as Susan gasped, a hand leaping to her mouth.

“Harry, you could have _died_.”

“I _was_ – dying, I mean.” He shrugged, pressing his lips tightly together. “It’s not something I’d recommend.”

“You’re an arse.” Susan huffed, scowling at him. “How did the others take it?”

“Pretty sure Daphne wanted to punch me.” He chuckled, rubbing his jaw while Felix snorted quietly. “Tracey too, actually. Neville _definitely_ wanted to. Hermione gave me a stern talking to.”

“I bet she did.” Susan snickered, and Harry went bright red at the teasing look she shot him – he ducked his head, staring at a positively _fascinating_ piece of leather at the front of his saddle.

“I could do without your laughing, Felix.” Harry harrumphed, glaring at his guard for a moment.

“Of course – sorry, my Lord.” Felix chuckled, and Harry sighed and tipped his head back as he stared up at the sky.

After a moment, and when his face felt decidedly _less_ hot, he glared at Susan. “ _You’re_ an arse.”

Susan shrugged, though the grin remained. “I know it’s true, what happened in the _Chamber_ , I mean – _Merlin_ , the skull is in your _bloody_ castle – but there were so many stories about it all, you know.”

“There’s usually stories about me.” Harry sighed, dejectedly. “Hardly anyone actually asks if they’re true or not, and even fewer believe me when I say no.” He scoffed, humourlessly.

“What happened to your sword? _Merlin_ , I didn’t even know you _had_ a sword!”

“Did you know Basilisk blood will ruin steel?” Harry asked, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t, before I went in there. What about you, Felix? Did you know?”

“No, my Lord.” Felix chuckled, his eyes darting to meet his own with the faintest glint of humour twinkling in them.

“But you had another – we all saw it.”

“Oh, that was the Sword of Gryffindor. I found it in a painting, just before I went in there – Ser Cadogan showed me where it was; I returned it to him before the ceremony with all the awards.” He shrugged, desperately wishing the ground would swallow him whole when Felix looked at him sharply, while Susan’s jaw fell open.

“You found the Sword of Gryffindor?” Felix blinked. “That blade has been lost for centuries; since Godric himself.”

“Cadogan thought it might help to have a bit of backup against the snake.”

“I’ll bet – the sword is supposed to have been spell-forged by the Goblins, but none knew where Godric placed the blade before he died. Lord Gryffindor would pay handsomely to have that blade.”

“I don’t think it’ll be leaving Hogwarts any time soon.” Harry muttered with a frown, shifting in the saddle as Clara cawed once more above them. Beyond the clip-clopping of the hooves on the cobbled road, the distant sounds of Cochenwaith reached his ears, and the faint aroma that he could recall from sharing Clara’s mind the previous day tickled his nose – though, thankfully, not nearly to the degree he’d smelled them through his Phoenix.

“What makes you say that?” Susan asked, cocking her head curiously.

“I couldn’t grab the sword after I put it back in the painting, and I can’t remember where the room was. I think Hogwarts protects it.”

“Hogwarts?” Susan asked, dubiously. “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

“Not really.” Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t feel _that_ different to Arpton; and after all of the magic that’s been used there? Over how many generations? It’s bound to have an effect sooner or later, I guess.”

“He’s right.” Felix sighed, shrugging as the two of them looked at him, though Susan was practically leaning over Harry and Arlan to do it. “Places like Hogwarts soak up the magic over time – it’s not unusual for a place like that to develop, _something_ , over time. You’re a Bones, my Lady?”

Susan giggled, but nodded. “That’s right.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’d not be surprised if your own home were similar – sometimes you just need to know where to look. The Citadel was like that.”

“Do you miss it?” Harry asked after a moment, frowning. “The Citadel, I mean. You were a guard there, before, well…”

“Sometimes.” Felix nodded, slowly. “I miss the people, but I was never sworn to defend the place – none of us were, actually; we had nobody to swear _to_. I much prefer my life these days, though. I have a beautiful wife, a daughter, and you, my Lord. I couldn’t be happier.”

Harry huffed as his cheeks warmed, and he narrowed his eyes at the guard beside him, who was busy looking into the trees to their right, though he could feel, through Felix’s magic, his amusement. “It’s decided, you’re both arses.”

“Oh, stop pouting – you’ll give yourself wrinkles, and _then_ what would Granger think, hm?” Susan smirked. Harry pulled a face at her, just as they rounded the final corner on the path.

Ahead of them, were the high, white-washed walls of Cochenwaith, reaching seventy feet into the air, with the banners of House Potter hanging from the ramparts proudly on either side of the closest Barbican. Even from as far as they were, Harry could see the dark, glinting metal of the three portcullises as men, women, and their animals travelled in and out without a care in the world.

As Clara swept over them, beating her wings excitedly, many stopped and stared at her in awe – it was well known among his lands that he had a Phoenix Familiar, and so, it wasn’t at all surprising when many began to point in his direction as the city bells began to ring and tiny faces began to appear along the high walls.

The travelling party shifted seamlessly – Harry manoeuvred Arlan around Amelia, who dropped back with both Sirius and Remus, to travel alongside Susan, while Felix joined him at his side. Arlan nickered excitedly, and his ears twitched this way and that; not once did the party slow down, and Harry felt more than a little pride at that.

He glanced down at himself, double-checking that his leather doublet was presentable, and his fingers of his free hand briefly ghosted the wolf stitched across his breast. It was his first visit to the city, and while he absolutely intended to purchase some gifts for his friends, he still had to be presentable. Sometimes, he wished he could just be a normal thirteen-year-old; someone like Hermione, or Tracey, or any of the other Half-Bloods and Muggle-Born he’d see around Hogwarts in jeans and a hoodie – they all looked so comfortable.

The city inched closer, and Harry found himself sitting a little straighter in the saddle – like Arcturus had shown him. At the thought of the man, Harry’s hand reached for the pendant that was nestled between his tunic and his breast, tucked away out of sight, and as close to him as he could possibly get. He’d do Arcturus proud, and then he could get back to the promise that he’d made Sirius at the start of the summer; one day of being the future Lord Potter, then tomorrow, straight back to _Just Harry_.

The crowds parted on either side of the road; men and women offering happy greetings and blessings of the Gods on his family and friends. Harry smiled at each of them, taking the time to reach down and shake the occasional hand that was offered, despite the grimace he could see on Felix’s face each time he did it.

The sound of marching drew his eyes toward the Barbican, and Harry chuckled to himself as a contingent of guards marched with the banner of his House held proudly aloft; a man walked before them, bedecked in fine clothes and expensive-looking jewellery that glinted in the late-morning sun. Harry eyed him with a single, raised brow and pursed lips – he’d never met a man that dressed himself with such gaudy jewellery that _wasn’t_ an arsehole. He’d lost count of how many did the exact thing in the Wizengamot. Lord Dondarrion sprung to mind – as did Lucius Malfoy.

The marching halted, and everyone knelt as Clara swooped down and came to rest on his shoulder – he’d never been gladder for the leather doublet than he was when he felt her talons flex while her wings precariously balanced her for a moment.

Harry peered at the men and women before him for a moment, his eyes sweeping the hunched figures as they kept their eyes on the ground. “Rise!” He called, leaning back in the saddle comfortably as he laid the reins across his lap.

The men and women all around him did so as one, and the man with the gaudy jewellery was the first on his feet, approaching slowly with a benevolent smile on his face. His lips were thin, and his eyes as dark as the thinning hair on the top of his head – he was clean-shaven, which, in Harry’s mind, only served to highlight just how pale that man’s thin lips were.

“My Lord Potter, we weren’t expecting you.” He said, his voice was deep, and had the cadence of a man that was used to bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“I didn’t send word ahead for a reason, Seneschal Durant.” Harry replied evenly, running the tip of his tongue along his teeth as he peered at the man from atop Arlan.

“Of course, my Lord, I simply meant to say that we are caught unprepared to host your party – it will take time to arrange rooms, and-“

“We aren’t staying for an extended period – just to enjoy the city, and we’ll leave for Arpton before sunset. Though, I should remind you, Seneschal; I’m not beholden to announce myself to you should I wish to visit _my_ city, on _my_ lands.”

“Of course, Lord Potter, I-“

“Would I suggest moving your guard back into the city walls, and allowing the fine men and women on this road to go about their business, then? No doubt they would rather go about their day.”

“Yes, my Lord, as you say.” Seneschal Durant bowed once again, spinning on his heel, and making a sharp gesture to the men and women he’d brought with him – as one, they bowed once more to Harry, and turned in place before marching back through the gates. “My Lord, is there anything I can do to assist you during your visit?”

“No, though I appreciate the offer.” Harry answered, inclining his head slightly as they made their way towards the Barbican. All around them, people returned to their everyday lives, and Harry couldn’t help but stare up at the various murder-holes that peppered the inside of the Barbican as they passed through.

Once inside the city, Harry grinned at the sight of all the people going to and fro, store to store, stall to stall, and cart to cart. It was like an ocean of colour, for it seemed like everyone wore a different colour; not once did he think he could make out the same colour twice, though, realistically, he knew he must have.

He breathed in deeply, and the warm, mouth-watering aroma of freshly cooked meats, tangy spices, and freshly baked goods left him an almost drooling mess in his saddle. Sirius appeared at his side, hands resting comfortably in his lap as he looked around the entrance to the city. “Welcome to Cochenwaith, Harry.” He grinned, clapping him on the back, while Clara squawked in protest. “Come on, let’s get the horses stabled.”

Harry watched as Seneschal Durant bowed once more before hurrying down one of the many streets that branched off from the large courtyard they’d entered. He shared a look with Sirius, and the two of them shook their heads before moving toward the nearby stables.

Felix was the first off of his horse, and was the one that approached the Stable Master – Harry chafed at having to take a backseat and not do it all himself, but he knew the many, _many_ reasons it had to be this way. He huffed out a breath, and Amelia looked at him rather bemused.

“We’ll get to it soon enough, Harry.” She said, smirking at him. “You’re almost as impatient as Sirius.”

“I’m not sure which of us should be offended by that one.” Sirius frowned, nudging Harry’s knee with his own. “Don’t worry, we’ll be off the horses in a few minutes.”

“It’s not that.” Harry sighed, trying not to pout. “I’m just a bit tired with the whole ‘ _guard_ ’ thing. I just wish I could deal with it myself.”

“When you’re older, you’ll understand why they’re so protective. Try not to think about it – it’ll drive you mad, otherwise. Just remember that you don’t have to suffer through it at home, at least.”

“That’s true – I couldn’t imagine shopping in Diagon Alley like this.” Harry grinned as Felix beckoned him forward. A small pouch of Galleons was exchanged between Felix and the Stable Master, and only a few minutes later, everyone was on their feet and looking at the tall, white-washed brick buildings of Cochenwaith, all of them capped with dark slate roofs.

“Where to first?” Susan asked, brushing down her skirt as she stepped up to him, tugging the thin shawl around her shoulders a little tighter – Clara was still perched on his shoulder, her dark eyes darting all around them.

“How about we just start wondering and see what happens?” Harry suggested, narrowing his eyes at Felix as he caught the man shaking his head wearily out of the corner of his eye. “We’re not in a hurry, after all.”

“Just remember to pace yourself.” Remus chuckled as Harry began to lead the way, Felix falling into step at his side comfortably.

They wandered the streets for a while, not going in any particular store, nor did they give more than a passing glance to the various carts that lined the remarkably clear streets. Every now and then, they would pass a group of men and women, bedecked in armour and his House Sigil as they patrolled the streets. Clara flew high above the city, weaving between the tall towers that ringed the city, with bright orange flames trailing in her wake – she always did enjoy showing off.

The press of bodies was a nice, strangely comforting change from the openness of Arpton, and how solitary it could often become. Harry had made a goal, two years ago, just before he’d left for Hogwarts, to visit each town, city, and village on his land – to meet the men and women he was responsible for. He’d been too young to begin any sooner, but now – now he was only three years from claiming his title; Cochenwaith would be the first of many.

Harry stopped outside of a building with a large glass front – it looked like any other building along the street, but for the fine clothes in the window. They were traditional in design, but there was something that caught his eye – a cloak. It was thick, and it had a bear pelt wrapped around its shoulders on the mannequin.

He entered first – the store was empty, and Felix held the door open before following him inside. Everyone piled into the store, while two of the eight guards that had accompanied them on the tip to the city remained at the door in the street, their backs to the building and their eyes scanning this way and that. Harry shook his head as he glanced over his shoulder at them, but couldn’t help the small, grateful smile that crept across his face.

As frustrating as it was to always be surrounded by guards outside of Arpton – sometimes even _in_ Arpton – it was nice to see that they cared, and genuinely wanted to make sure he was safe. Something that had been sorely lacking over the last two years at Hogwarts.

Harry wandered over to the cloak and ran it between his fingers and thumb; the soft, velvety material of the cloak itself was of fine quality, and the bear pelt was rich in colour, and thick. When the door behind the counter opened, revealing a man dressed in a fine, sage-coloured doublet, with sandy-coloured hair, blinking at them all surprised.

“Oh, hello.” He muttered, looking at them all before depositing the bundle of fabrics on the nearby counter. “Can I help you?” He asked, his eyes darting to the six guards and Felix.

“I was wondering – how much for the cloak?” Harry asked, stepping up to the counter, quickly swerving around both Amelia and Susan, who were murmuring between themselves over a pair of practical-looking boots. “The one with the bear pelt.”

“The one by the window? It’s five Galleons, I believe.”

“Would you be able to shrink it so that it fits someone about my size? Maybe a little taller and broader though.”

“Of course – just a simple bit of wand-work.” The man nodded, and Harry couldn’t help the excited grin as he spun to look at Sirius, who chuckled and rubbed his jaw.

“I’ll take it.” Harry nodded, almost bouncing on the spot with excitement – it would make the perfect gift for Neville; they couldn’t have too many cloaks in Scotland. “Do you have anything you might recommend for a girl? She likes to wear dresses a lot.”

The man chuckled and scratched his chin absently as he pursed his lips. “Not myself, I don’t think, _but_ there’s a store about five buildings down. They might have something.”

Harry watched the man move through his own store for a quiet moment, taking great care to avoid the guards, and Felix in particular, who was watching him like a hawk as he removed his wand from the holster beneath his sleeve. Harry grimaced as all of the guards shifted their weight and gripped their weapons tighter as the store owner cast a quick series of spells over the cloak.

He watched in quiet fascination as the cloak shrunk to a more appropriate size – regardless of how often he saw magic performed, and how many spells he himself learned and cast, there was _nothing_ more wonderous to him. The cloak was removed from the mannequin slowly, and brought back to the counter, where both Amelia and Susan had placed their own purchases down.

Susan placed a bone-white shawl down, folded neatly, of course. It was thicker than the one she currently wore, and, while her own complexion was quite pale, he thought it complimented her quite nicely.

Amelia, on the other hand, placed a pair of fine, black dragonhide boots with silver clasps – no doubt for her to wear if she needed to go in the field at work, which, he knew from Sirius’s complaining, she still enjoyed doing.

Neither Sirius, nor Remus placed anything down, and Harry made sure that he paid for the lot before anyone else could – Amelia protested the most, saying that she was more than happy to pay for it all, but he waved her off. It wouldn’t be much of a gift to Neville if someone else bought it.

They waved the proprietor off after that, and Harry made sure to remember where the store was – the man was friendly enough, and he didn’t seem to have noticed the sigil across the breast of his doublet, or, if he had, he hadn’t made a fuss over it.

The store they were previously directed to was one that catered to women, supplying dresses of fine fabrics, and modern cuts to all those that could want for them. Harry was well aware that he knew almost nothing about dresses, outside of the physical parts that made it all up, so steered well clear from _those_. What he _did_ gravitate towards, however, were the gloves.

Along an entire wall of the store, were rows upon rows of gloves – some were short, barely reaching the wrist, while others were long, designed to travel wall-past the elbow, while some had the fingers cut out entirely. All were finely made; soft and silky to the touch as he carefully ran his fingers over them.

He was left mostly to his own devices while in the store – Susan had dragged Amelia off to the side, cooing over a dress, that, frankly, looked almost the exact same as the one she was already wearing. Sirius and Remus were in a corner, chatting quietly and occasionally glancing in his direction with reassuring nods and smiles.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for – it was a pair of black doeskin gloves that were possibly the softest things he’d ever touched. They weren’t too long, perhaps half the length of his forearm, and so he paid for them quickly and placed them in the bag he’d brought with him for his purchases – something Remus insisted on carrying, despite his protests.

In the end, Susan didn’t buy the dress for herself, and they continued wandering the streets of Cochenwaith, though they did stop at a café for lunch. He’d had a simple meal of some mature cheese, freshly baked bread, and some cold meat. It was simple, but filling – he’d been tempted to order something that he’d have at any other meal, but with all the walking and moving around, he’d thought it best to stick with simpler food.

As the afternoon wore on, they visited a number of stores all over the city, though to him, everything had passed in a blur. They’d entered so many shops, and he’d bought so many things, that it had all gotten more than a little overwhelming at times. Their spirits remained high, however, and they’d continued to laugh and joke all the while.

He’d bought a gift for each of his family members, making sure to grab something for Andromeda, Ted, and Nymphadora in particular – he’d spent the least time with them on his birthday; for Andromeda, he bought a sapphire necklace – it wasn’t ostentatious; just a simple gem wrapped in silver that dangled on a fine chain. For Ted, he purchased a silver and gold dipping pen, and for Dora, he’d bought a pair of tough, knee-high boots.

It wasn’t until the sun was beginning to set, and they found themselves by the same courtyard they’d entered the city at, that Harry found the last two gifts he wanted to buy. They were in a fine jewellery store, and many in the area had already closed up for the day, though the witch behind the counter didn’t seem to be in a rush – in fact, she looked more bemused to his browsing than anything else.

His fingers traced a fine, golden bracelet that was shaped like a snake devouring its tail. There were no jewels inlaid into the shiny metal, but it was finely made nonetheless – perfect for Tracey. He picked it up and held it in his palm, his eyes sweeping over the fine, scaled surface carefully.

With a nod, he went back to perusing the wares – Sirius, Remus, Amelia, and Susan were all outside the front window, watching him curiously and talking with one another; only Felix remained in the store with him, his staff held in his hand as he stared at the witch cautiously. Harry rolled his eyes, though he made sure neither the witch, nor Felix could see.

His eyes went back to the rack, trailing over the various necklaces and other items on display – he dismissed them all. Not a single one was what he was looking for. He was about to turn around when something caught his eye at the back, tucked away behind the other necklaces.

He reached his fingers out curiously, brushing aside the various chains and such in his way before pulling on the piece that had so intrigued him. It was shorter than everything else – a bracelet, wrought of silver and gold, with just the _faintest_ hint of Mithril mixed in with it all. It glinted in the low light of the store, and Harry found himself captivated with it, with the way it sparkled and hung between his fingers.

Licking his lips slowly, his eyes travelled the length of it to the centre – it was a wolf’s head, with the chain attached between its ears, and beneath its chin. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, with almost each tuft of fur clearly visible; tiny emeralds were in the eye sockets as it stared up at him unblinkingly. It was perfect for Hermione.

His jaw clenched as he nodded to himself before he made his way over to the counter – the witch, who had been leaning against the wood casually, grinned when he approached; her white teeth almost as bright as Mithril itself. He placed the two pieces on the worktop carefully and pulled a handful of Galleons from the pouch on his belt with a smile.

“Excellent choices, my Lord – special gifts for a special lady, perhaps?” She asked; her voice was kind, if a little teasing. She wrapped both gifts up in separate sheets of silk before tying them fast with a piece of ribbon.

“Two friends.” He smiled, placing the Galleons on the table before he picked up the two small bundles.

“I’m sure they’ll love your thoughtfulness. My mother made that wolf bracelet, you know – I’d thought I’d sold it years ago. If anyone deserved to purchase it, it was you, my Lord.”

“It’s beautiful – your mother is very talented.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your words. Come, I believe your fearsome protector might start fidgeting if you linger at my counter any longer.” She winked at him, shooing him away with a smile. He grinned as he moved toward the door, Felix close behind him. She offered one last wave as they stepped from the store and Sirius looked at him curiously.

“Got what you were looking for?” He asked, gesturing to the two packages in his hands.

“Yeah, I think so.” He nodded, casting his eyes briefly to the sky above them; Clara had long-since returned to Arpton to feed and rest – it seemed even Clara had a limit for how much attention she could endure. “Come on,” He said, glancing at everyone. “let’s go home.”

* * *

Harry sprinted out of the Great Hall when the horn was blown – they had been at Arpton for little more than a week, and as far as he was aware, there were none of his men out on patrol, nor had there been need for them to leave the castle.

He dove down the steps, three at a time as he pumped his legs to reach the courtyard – all around the open space, men and women were staring up at the Barbican above the main gate, frozen in their tasks.

The second horn blast blew, and he skidded to a halt, his Steward, Brandon, stumbling to a stop next to him. Harry frowned and glanced in his direction – two blasts signalled they were under attack, but even as he strained his ears, he couldn’t make out any sounds of an approaching army.

More importantly, if there _was_ an attacking army, why would they be attacking _him_?

The third blast echoed around the castle, and Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he stared, open-mouthed, at Brandon – the older man looked to be in a similar state of shock and surprise. Three blasts were only used if…

Harry took off across the courtyard once again, and Felix appeared at his side, his staff clutched in his hand and his armour clanking as the two of them took the stairs to the Main Gate two at a time. His legs burned, his thighs screaming in protest after the hard morning of training he’d endured, but still, he kept on going.

Once at the top of the curtain wall, Harry stared out across the long, thin bridge that provided the only form of access to the castle – it was pale in the early evening light, and the warm rays of sunlight seemed to almost make it glow between the rushing waters on either side of it.

There, at the far end of the bridge were a set of banners that he hadn’t thought to see for another three years – he’d recognise the silver griffin clutching a wand in each talon; paired with the sage green field it was paired with, and the sigil was unmistakable.

 _House_ _Trevelyan_.

He swallowed, nervously and looked to both Felix and Brandon – the latter having followed after the two of them as they’d sprinted for the wall. What were House Trevelyan doing here, and why hadn’t he known? They would have had to have passed through his lands, pass over a dozen castles and fortresses, and yet, _nobody_ had sent word ahead to him; he had been caught unprepared – especially for what ammounted to a _Royal Visit_.

A lone rider set off from the party gathered at the far end of the bridge – even from where Harry was standing, he could tell that the man was young, and he had thick, blonde hair, flowing freely about his face. His horse was large, powerful-looking, and a deep brown colour.

“What do I do?” Harry asked, looking wide-eyed between the men on either side of him.

“There’s nothing we _can_ do, my Lord.” Brandon muttered, his hands gripping the corners of the stone parapet so tightly, Harry thought he could see the bone of his knuckles beneath the skin. “House Trevelyan hasn’t come to these lands in over two-hundred years.”

“Why did we have no warning?”

“I’ve not a clue – they would have had to have passed your Bannermen; even been hosted by them at some point. It’s possible they were ordered to remain quiet, but-“ Brandon shrugged with a wince. “-there’s no way to know for sure. Not that it makes much of a difference right now.”

“I seek the Lord Potter!” The man down below called out – his voice was deep, rich, and masculine; there was an edge to it, not a threatening one, but something else – something he couldn’t quite place.

“Go on, my Lord.” Felix nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re right here with you.”

Harry nodded before turning back to the man below him. “You have my attention, Ser – may I know the name of the man that comes before my gate?”

“Jaime Trevelyan, heir to Viscount Trevelyan – my Lord Father announced his intention to visit your keep some time ago; why do you keep your gates closed to us?”

Harry frowned and glanced between the two men on either side of him – both shook their heads, almost imperceptibly. If they said they hadn’t received the message, then he trusted and believed them. “I’m afraid we never received notice of your intended visit, my Lord, and we’re caught woefully unprepared to host you as your stations demand. We can provide what we can, of course.”

“Messages are lost all of the time – if this is truly the case, I see no reason for there to be an issue. Will you open your gates to us?”

“Aye – you may enter the castle and enjoy what luxuries we can provide. Your horses will be fed and looked after, and Guest Right shall be shared with all.” Harry replied, breathing heavily through his nose. He glanced at Brandon and added, “Make sure we have everything for Guest Right ready; use the freshest bread and open a fresh cask of honey – I count almost fifty in the party.”

Brandon nodded and immediately took off, running down the stone steps to the main courtyard. Harry turned to look to Felix and let out a sigh as the sound of retreating sounds of the horse below them seemed to almost match the staccato rhythm of his pumping heart. “It’s going to be crowded.” Felix muttered, frowning as he continued to gaze down upon their unexpected guests. “I’d like to know why this message never reached us.”

“So would I.” Harry huffed before he clasped Felix on the arm. “Come on, we need to be in position before they pass through the gate.”

Felix nodded, and Harry led the way back down to the courtyard, calling for the gate to be opened on the way. In the middle of the courtyard, were Sirius, Remus, and Susan, all frowning in confusion and looking around at the sudden, frenzied activity around them.

Spells were thrown this way and that in an effort to quickly tidy the space, pack things away, and even to freshen clothes. “What’s going on?” Sirius asked, placing a strong hand on his shoulder before sliding it up and around the back of his neck. “Is everything okay?”

Harry frowned and chewed on his tongue for a moment as his eyes swept the three adults and Susan. “House Trevelyan is here – about fifty in the party. Jaime Trevelyan came up to the gate himself.”

“Trevelyan?” Remus blinked. “Here?”

“Who are these people?” Susan asked, confused and wide-eyed. “Are they dangerous?”

“Lord Carth Trevelyan is the Viscount – he sits in place of the King in the absence of one of the royal family. Jaime is his son, and he has a daughter, Alara, who he tried to marry off to Harry when he first came here.” Sirius frowned as he answered. “He’s a dangerous man – powerful and dangerous. If it’s really him at the gate, then everyone has to be on their best behaviour while he’s here.”

“The irony.” Remus snorted, and Harry couldn’t help the little grin that spread on his face. Sirius scowled at Remus, but his favourite uncle paid it no mind. “Come on then, we’d best get into position – no time to change into something more presentable now.”

“Position?” Amelia asked, cocking her head as Sirius led her off to the side.

“Harry will be the first to greet them – then the two of us, then Susan, then Remus, and finally, the rest of the Household by rank.” Sirius sighed, and Harry stepped into position and clasped his hands before him. He was glad for the earlier wash – he’d been beaten into the dirt all morning, and had gotten changed into a loose tunic, trousers, and comfortable boots after a long, relaxing soak.

Susan was similarly dressed, though her tunic was tucked into her trousers, while his own flapped loosely around his thighs in the gentle breeze. Her red hair was set into a loose, thick braid and pulled over her left shoulder.

Sirius and Amelia were also in simple tunic and trousers, though both of theirs were black. Sirius had his hair tied back, and Amelia’s was loose, even if it was pulled over a shoulder in a similar fashion to her niece’s – Remus, like always, was dressed in his doublet with the silver serpent on his breast. All around them, the Household arranged themselves neatly, with the most senior members following after Remus, and the rest behind them in neat rows.

The familiar caw of Clara drew his eye to the Owlery, where he spotted Clara dive from a window and snap her wings open. Her arrival before him was rather lazy, if he thought so himself, and her eyes blinked with the same lethargy that he recognised as her having just woken up – no doubt the three horn blasts had disturbed her.

She hopped on the spot, turning as the large, heavy doors were opened and the portcullis was raised. A Battlemage in the colours of House Trevelyan led the way atop a white stallion, followed by a pair holding the standard of the House.

Riding casually just behind the two of them was the same man that Harry had spoken to at the gate, though, obviously, he was much closer now than he had been just moments ago. His hair was thick and shoulder-length – straight as well, though parted in the middle. His jaw was strong, though his lips were thin and set into a comfortable, charming smirk as his eyes roved the women around the courtyard; some giggled as he passed, and Harry found his teeth grinding together. Sirius chuckled quietly at his side, and when he glanced at his godfather, Sirius gave him a little wink.

Men and women rode through the gate after that – of all different ages and sizes; he recognised none of them, none of their faces were familiar from his brief visit to the Capitol all those years ago, though he wasn’t sure why he would have expected otherwise.

There were other Lords, minor, compared to his own standing, and Harry thought them to be courtiers, or Bannermen of House Trevelyan – he only knew they were minor Lords for how unfamiliar their own sigils were. Harry had all of the Ancient and Most Noble sigils memorised, and there were at least a hundred of those alone; there were _thousands_ of Noble families.

A huge carriage came through the gate next, with a large, domed sage green canopy with silver decorations lining the fine canvas. All over the wood, Mithril studs gleamed in the early evening sun, and a pair of drivers sat on the front bench, their white hair dancing about as the carriage rocked side-to-side.

It was then that the familiar face of Carth Trevelyan appeared – while everyone else had veered off to the side, Trevelyan veered towards where they were all standing. Harry drew in a breath and pulled himself up a little straighter, his hands clasped firmly before him as his jaw twitched.

Carth Trevelyan was in his full armour, minus his helmet – the gleaming Mithril plates were etched with golden filigree and vicious-looking griffins; the sharp, beak-like visages stuck out proudly from his pauldrons, and a sage green tabard was wrapped around him, clasped to a large, golden buckle over his left breast.

Behind him rode the largest man, outside of Hagrid, that Harry had ever seen. His armour was dark steel, with vicious-looking spikes on his shoulders, elbows, and knuckles – he rode lazily, almost as if he had not a care in the world. Though, despite his posture, Harry could _feel_ his alertness, even as his eyes passed over him. The man had a thick, dark beard, and his hair was long, handing down past his breast and styled in loose, simple braids that were clasped at the bottom.

Harry took a knee as Trevelyan dismounted his horse, and quickly, the entire courtyard followed, though none bowed their heads – to do so would be to say that Trevelyan was _King_. Harry kept his eyes firmly on the bald, severe man with thin lips and blonde, mutton-chop facial hair. He held Harry’s gaze firmly, his piercing green eyes meeting his own, searching for something.

He rose only when the Viscount gestured for him to do so, the rest of the courtyard following in his wake, and inclined his head slightly. “Viscount Trevelyan.” He said, clasping his hands before him; his thumb trailed across the edge of the wand-holster on his inner wrist.

“I am pleased to see your home, Lord Potter.” Trevelyan said in his gravelly voice, looking down at him. “It’s a shame that the message announcing my intention was lost.”

“We shall get the bottom of it, Lord Trevelyan.”

“Indeed, I should hope so – it truly would be a shame if other such vital information was lost now, wouldn’t it.”

Harry wanted to scowl at the man before him, but instead, he simply smiled politely and bowed his head. The sound of the doors to the keep opening just behind him drew his attention as he spotted the few members of his Household that hadn’t been in the courtyard carrying a small table with a dozen plates of Bara Brith bread – something that Harry, personally, detested – a large tub of fresh honey, and over two dozen tankards balanced precariously on top of it. Finally, a man from his Household Guard carried a large barrel of cider that had no doubt been pulled from the cellars – Harry watched him place it down carefully on the ground next to the table and pop the lid off before joining the rest of the men off to the side.

Trevelyan led the way to the table, and Harry followed a step behind, as was expected of him. In the silence of the courtyard, not a sound was made besides the idle noises of the many horses. Clara hopped along at his heel, and he quickly dropped a shoulder and held his arm out for her to hop on, which she did without hesitating – though he was sure the marks where her talons were clutching onto him were going to be felt for the rest of the day.

The Viscount eyed him curiously, and his companion on his shoulder even more curiously before he broke off a piece of bread, dipped it lightly in the honey and tossed it into his mouth. Harry quickly did the same, though quickly broke a small piece off for Clara and hissed as her sharp beak caught the tip of his finger – she likely thought him deserving of it after she was woken up so abruptly by the bellowing horns.

Harry grasped a pair of tankards and dunked them into the open barrel, filling them with the cool, cloudy cider that lapped lazily at the sides. He offered the first to Trevelyan, and the two of them took a mouthful each before placing the tankards onto the table.

With that done, the two of them moved back over to the line, and the introductions began. The door to the carriage opened then, and the familiar, porcelain face of Alara. He only had vague memories of his brief, private meeting with both Lord Trevelyan and his daughter, but as she stepped into the fading sunlight, she seemed little more than a doll. She was pretty, of that there was no doubt, but her face was blank and devoid of any and all inclination of what she was thinking; a troupe of women followed in her wake, many wearing the same sigils as the men he’d seen astride their horses as they entered – wives and daughters, no doubt.

“My son and heir, Jaime – the two of you spoke briefly at your gate.” Trevelyan announced as the handsome man approached; his armour, like his father’s, was pure Mithril, though he wore his green cloak hanging from both his shoulders and trailing after him.

“Lord Potter – so good to see you on the ground, rather than peering over the top of your walls.” Jaime said with a lopsided smile and a raised brow. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“Heir Trevelyan – perhaps in a year or two I might match the height you seem to imagine me as.” Harry replied carefully, though he bowed politely, nonetheless. Jaime chuckled and offered him his hand; Harry peered at it cautiously before clasping it, pumping it once before releasing it. Jaime moved off to the side to partake in Guest Right, though Harry didn’t join him – he needed only to share the custom with Lord Trevelyan.

“My daughter, Alara.”

Alara approached, seemingly floating across the cobblestone tiles of the courtyard as she offered him the back of her hand. He brushed his lips across her knuckles before quickly straightening. “My Lady, I hope you find Arpton Keep everything you could hope for and more.”

“I’m honoured to be hosted by one so young and so charming – it seems we could use more men like yourself in the Capitol once you come of age.” She answered, curtseying ever so slightly.

The next round of introductions meant that he met an ungodly number of men and women, all Lords and Ladies lands so far away, they felt little more than inconsequential – though a number of them remarked on the Phoenix perched on his shoulder, cawing every now and then when one of her wings would twitch. Harry could only thank whichever God was watching him for her good behaviour.

The Lords and Ladies of Trevelyan’s court had all been met when the large man from before appeared before him like some great monolith carved out of a mountain. “Elbert Crane, Lord of House Crane.” Trevelyan announced in the same voice he’d introduced everyone.

For a moment, Harry simply blinked up at the man as his mouth struggled to form words – he’d seemed large from afar, but up close, he looked even larger than _Hagrid_. “Lord Potter, it’s an honour to meet you.” He said with a bow, which snapped Harry from his stupor.

“It’s both my pleasure and honour to host you, Lord Crane. I must say, if you don’t mind my saying, I thought you the biggest man I’d ever seen from a distance, but to see you this close is something else. I’m sure you’re a terror in a spar.”

Elbert chuckled and clasped his hands before him as he rocked on his heels. “I take no offence, Lord Potter – in fact, someone you knew once told me he thought me half-giant.”

“Oh? Who was that?”

“Arcturus Black.”


	41. Harry XXVIII

Harry pursed his lips as he stared down at the skeletal maw of Ruhxu – the midday light catching the thin bands of Mithril and making them almost glow. He was on the first floor of the trophy room, leaning against the smooth oak handrail with his chin resting on the backs of his hands.

He tapped the toe of his right boot against the floorboard beneath him and ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. Staring at what remained of Ruhxu brought conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, he was genuinely grateful to be alive, and glad that she couldn’t be forced to harm anyone else ever again – on the other, there was still the lingering anger that she had attacked those _he_ cared about.

Would he be able to manage the same thing if something similar were to happen in the future? He hoped so – he was young, brash, and even foolhardy at times; especially if Sirius offered his opinion, something _he_ thought was rich, coming from him, but there was little he wouldn’t do to make sure everyone around him remained safe. He’d lost too much in his short life already to do otherwise.

He lifted his chin slightly and pulled the chain around his neck free with a gentle tug, the silver metal warm to the touch as it brushed against his magic. It was strong, steadfast, and most of all, _everything_ he’d ever associated with Arcturus. With it in his hand, with his thumb tracing the shape of the wolf and serpent, he felt taller, stronger, and most of all, braver.

It didn’t take much to be able to feel exactly what Arcturus had thought of him – if he’d ever doubted it, the proof was right there in his palm, pulsing gently in rhythm with his breathing. He could feel Arcturus’s love, his pride, and his belief in him. Sometimes, he thought it enough to make him cry – it was unfair that the man had been stolen from them; kidnapped and murdered.

His hand clenched into a fist around the pendant as he briefly felt his shoulders tense. There had, apparently, been no sign that Arcturus had been tortured before his death, and so all Harry could do was hope that it had been quick. That his body had been displayed so grotesquely in Diagon Alley had been the ultimate insult to a man that was so powerful, so kind, and so… so brave.

He knew that the absence of Arcturus still bothered Sirius, for all that his godfather tried to pretend otherwise. He’d heard the late night, whispered conversations between the man and his wife – the quiet sobbing as Sirius would weep for those he had lost. Harry had gotten used to them over the years, and when he was younger, he’d charge into Sirius’s room and wrap his tiny arms around the man, and they’d cry for his parents together.

Now, with the loss of Arcturus, it felt like he was intruding – not that Sirius would ever let him think otherwise if he knew. He also knew, from those quiet, whispered conversations, that the investigation into Arcturus’s murder had gone dry back in March; there was simply no way to determine who had murdered his grandfather, let alone _where_.

Harry had tried to ask, what he thought, was the occasional subtle question, but the adults saw through him instantly – Amelia was the worst for it, though he couldn’t fault her; it was her job to discern the truth from people. It was more than a little annoying.

He snorted quietly in the emptiness of the building – Felix was perched against the bannister just behind him, but other than that, he was completely alone. In the week since House Trevelyan’s arrival at his castle, he’d been nothing but annoyed in one fashion or another; it was exhausting, hosting so many people.

It seemed that, no matter where he went in his castle, or what he did, there was always _someone_ that wanted his undivided attention over some trivial _bullshit_ that he could care less about. Lord Trevelyan had taken up most of his days, though, thankfully, Sirius was gracious enough to keep the man occupied, and, hopefully, entertained.

Alara Trevelyan wandered the keep with her entourage like a silent ghost – he hadn’t seen her smile once in her time within his walls, and she was often quiet while the women around her gossiped and laughed with one another. He didn’t know if it was a façade or not, but a small part of him couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the woman who was old enough to be his mother.

He’d heard little things around the castle; gossip from his Household when they didn’t know he was around. Some were more fanciful than others, but there were all sorts. Some claimed Alara a jilted witch, abandoned at the altar by her childhood sweetheart – others said her lover had been poisoned, or killed in an honour duel in the most brutal of ways for her hand.

He pinched his top lip between his teeth absently as he continued to stare at Ruhxu and nothing at all at the same time. There had been Jaime, who would often walk with his sister through the garden, and there had been the behemoth, Elbert Crane that would accompany her the most, when he wasn’t following his lord around.

Now, there was a man that confused him. He’d spotted the large man watching him during his training on most days; though thankfully Sulyard had made sure they did nothing other than the basics, and Felix did the same. He was thankful, in a way – his spells felt more powerful than ever before, and he had even been able to knock Felix off of his feet once, though that hadn’t stopped the man from planting him in the dirt ever since. His technique had improved with Sulyard’s instruction also – his footwork was cleaner, and he was able to spar for just that little bit longer before Sulyard would, like Felix, toss him into the dirt.

Jaime Trevelyan was a less confusing man – he spent all of his time either in the sparring yard, swinging his sword and shooting off spells at any willing challenger, or flirting with one of his household. Jaime was an impressive warrior and a formidable wizard; it was little surprise that the women giggled as he passed by.

He had watched a number of duels that Jaime had taken part in during the week; his eyes watching for every tell that would prelude an attack: A twitch here, a subtle shift there, and so many minor details that most would miss, and he was sure that he missed even more than he saw. Jaime had an arsenal of spells that he used in conjunction with his sword-work. If he was on the defensive, he would use his wand to bat the weapon away and counter with his sword – if he was on the offensive, he would strike with his sword and follow it up with a spell. He was like a whirlwind, and not a single person had bested him.

The door below him opened with a quiet groan, and footsteps of someone walking across the marble echoed throughout the room. Harry glanced beneath him as he heard Felix turn to watch the new visitor and spotted the familiar golden hair of Jaime.

The heir of House Trevelyan walked through the hall with naught a care; his hands clasped at the small of his back, and he hummed a quiet tune. He ignored all of the treasures and made a beeline for the remains of Ruhxu, coming to a stop with a snap of his heels.

Harry pushed off of the railing and moved towards the stairs that led to the ground floor – his own footsteps, and those of Felix, drew the blonde man’s attention and it was only a moment later that the same lopsided, playful smile was on his lips.

Jaime was dressed as he often was around Arpton; in a beige leather coat with black gloves, and a dark, studded belt cinched at the waist with a simple scabbard held in place. His hair was loose, falling around his shoulders and his facial hair was a little darker along his jaw.

“Ah, Lord Potter – sorry if I intruded.” Jaime said, bowing politely, though the smirk still remained. “And Felix Cale, correct? I remember you from the Capitol – I seem to remember you wearing different colours back then. My, how far you’ve risen.”

“Heir Trevelyan.” Felix answered stiffly.

“You didn’t intrude.” Harry said, glancing between the two men thoughtfully. “I take it you got curious about Ruhxu, considering you passed everything else.”

Jaime turned to look at him and grinned before spreading his arms wide. “Who _wouldn’t_ be curious, hm? The largest Basilisk ever recorded; over a thousand years old, killed by a twelve-year-old boy. Has a certain ring to it, does it not?”

“That twelve-year-old boy is the lord of the castle you’re in, Heir Trevelyan.” Felix snapped, taking half a step forward.

“My apologies, of course, Lord Potter. I assure you; I meant no disrespect – I wonder, are you perhaps considering fighting in a tournament when you’re older? I’d love to see just what you can do in a few years if you can accomplish _this_ now.” Jaime said with a grin, hooking a thumb at the gaping maw over his shoulder.

“Possibly.” Harry shrugged as he stepped up to the skull of the deadly creature; his fingers traced the smooth bone lightly – the bone was warm to the touch, thanks to the large windows along the wall. “We don’t have anything like that in England – there _are_ duels, though.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll take them by storm. If you ever decide to compete, of course.” Jaime nodded, turning to face the maw himself. “I am curious, however, as to _how_ you defeated this creature.”

“With a sword.” He shrugged, pointing to the hole in the roof of the skull. “Through the top of its mouth and out the top. Clara kept its mouth open for me.”

“Ah, your Phoenix, yes? A remarkable thing, that – and she seems so _loyal_.”

“There’s no better companion I could ask for.”

“Just give it a few years.” Jaime chuckled before leaning forward a little and peering inside the mouth. “You’ll understand what I mean when you’re a little older.”

“I’m sure.” Harry sighed, raising a single brow at the man before him. He glanced, briefly, at Felix, who shook his head minutely before tuning to look at the Trevelyan heir. “Was there something in particular you wanted to know about Ruhxu?”

“Ruhxu? You named it?”

“That was the name she called herself by.” He shrugged, stepping around the skull and looking up into the empty eye sockets. “I’m a Parselmouth.”

Jaime was quiet for a moment out of the corner of his eye and pursed his lips. “The first in House Potter, it would seem. My, you _are_ full of surprises.”

“I like to think it keeps Sirius on his toes.”

“Good man.” Jaime chuckled. “If I may – this fang here, the tip is snapped off; your doing?” Jaime asked, pointing to the fang closest to him. At the sight of the broken fang, the phantom pain returned to his arm, and he sucked in a low hiss as the muscles in his arm briefly felt like they were being torn apart once again.

“The tip of the fang went through my arm when I killed her – Clara cried into the wound and saved my life.”

“Indeed? Even more impressive.” Jaime murmured, nodding slowly. “You’re not at all like I thought you to be, Lord Potter.”

Harry frowned and absently chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked up at the blonde-haired heir. “And just what were you expecting?”

“Oh, I don’t know, truthfully.” Jaime sighed, turning away from the skeleton, and wandering past Felix, who gripped his staff a little tighter. “I thought you arrogant, of course – a puppet of House Black, perhaps.”

“My Lord-“ Felix scowled, but Harry held his hand up and slowly followed the future lord of House Trevelyan.

“My, you do have your hound on a short leash. Impressive.” Jaime chuckled before coming to a stop just before the plinth with the ancient crown of House Potter resting atop it. “To think that this would have ended up atop your little head if things had gone differently.” Jaime murmured, briefly glancing at him.

“A lot of things went differently than most people thought they would, I imagine. I might have had parents, for example.”

“Indeed – what was his name? Voldewart? Vulpethought?”

“ _Voldemort_.”

“What a stupid name.” Jaime sighed, glancing at him with a thoughtful look on his face. “Tell me, if you faced him here, today, and killed him – would you think it justice? To cut down the man who killed your parents? Who maimed your face?”

“I’m not sure what I’d feel.” Harry answered neutrally as he stepped around Jaime, Felix barely half a step behind him.

“Ever killed a man?”

“Not consciously – they say I killed Voldemort when he hit me with the Killing Curse. I don’t remember it.”

“It’s a strange thing, you know.” Jaime said, quietly, leaning over to him and reducing his voice to a whisper. “To think we’re all just sacks of meat. Poke a man in one spot, and his innards will fall all across the floor. Poke him in another, and he might walk it off.”

“Is there a point to all of this, or did you come in here just to try and intimidate me?” He sighed, levelling his eyes at Jaime while his jaw clenched.

Jaime chuckled and leaned back as he straightened himself and ran a hand through his hair absently. “The last time you met with my family, my father offered to join our bloodlines – I’d know why you turned him down so rudely.”

“Rudely?” Harry frowned, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t recall being rude once – I _could_ have been, of course. It’s considered poor taste to try and bully a child.”

“You refused the hand of my sister.” Jaime said, folding his arms across his chest. When Felix shifted, just behind Harry’s shoulder, he watched as Jaime’s eyes grew hard – _dangerous_. “Careful now, Cale – I wouldn’t want to open you balls to brains in front of your precious lord.”

“Felix – it’s fine.” Harry said, just as his favourite guard was about to open his mouth. He turned to look back at the man opposite him and frowned. “As for your sister – she’s old enough to be my mother, and I’ll not have my lands and people threatened in the same breath. _I_ will choose my wife when the day comes. I would _suggest_ , Heir Trevelyan, that you remember whose home you stand in, and treat your host with more respect.”

“You continue to impress.” Jaime murmured after a tense moment as he drummed his fingers on his bicep. “Very well – you refused the hand of my sister; I can accept that. Truth be told, I wished to know the young man before me – you’ll be a strong Lord someday, and I’m looking forward to seeing you in the future.”

Harry eyed the hand Jaime offered warily before clasping it with his own, only to be gently tugged forward as a hand clasped his shoulder in a firm grip. “But understand this, Lord Potter – if the day comes when we’re on opposite sides of a tournament ground, I won’t hesitate; do you understand me?”

Harry could only nod as he looked up into the green eyes of the Trevelyan heir, and a shiver ran down his spine as Jaime released him. “I’d expect nothing less – I’ve been watching your spars. If the day should come, it’ll be one I look forward to.”

Jaime smirked as he began walking away, offering a short bow and a smirk as he did so. “Until that day, Lord Potter.” He called as he turned his back on the two of them.

Harry watched him leave silently before glancing at Felix as the door to the building shut with a loud, echoing thud. “ _Merlin_ , that man’s a twat.” Felix muttered, leaning on his staff tiredly. “Not changed a bit.”

“I would assume, after all of that, that you know him.”

“Fought in several tournaments against him over the years. The man’s an artist with his sword and knows his spells – his personality could always do with some improvement though.”

“Tell me about him. All I’ve heard about both of Trevelyan’s children are rumours and gossip and it’s been a _week_.” Harry sighed, running a tired hand down his face.

Felix shrugged, and his armour rattled from the movement. “Not much to tell. He’s Lord Trevelyan’s heir, grew up in the Capitol and enjoys fighting and women – though it’s always been hard to tell which he enjoys more. Arrogant prick to boot.”

“And Alara? Do you know of her?”

“No, my Lord – but there _were_ some rumours going around the city a few years before you turned up. I don’t know how true they were, but…”

“But?” Harry asked, looking between Felix and the door to the rest of the castle as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“There was a nobleman murdered – his head removed and placed against his arse. The rumour was that the man was Lady Alara’s lover. How true that is, I couldn’t say, but it ran rampant at the time.”

“Was the culprit ever caught?”

“Not that I’m aware of – the Trevelyan Household Guard saw to the investigation, not us.”

Harry was quiet for a moment before letting out a long sigh. He glanced over his shoulder and into the vacant sockets of Ruhxu. “ _Merlin_ , things were simpler at Hogwarts.”

Felix chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder comfortingly as the two of them walked toward the door to the building. After all, he still had guests to play host to – at least for a little while longer.

* * *

It had been something he had been looking forward to for weeks now – ever since he had arrived at Arpton for the summer. It had been an order he had placed the day of his arrival, and as each day passed, the more his excitement – and his impatience – grew to barely controllable levels.

The requests he had made for it had been specific, though if were being honest with himself, there was one that he hadn’t thought would be possible – it had been an incredibly last-minute thing, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to read about anything similar being made before.

His armour had been replaced first, by the castle Armoursmith, Traven Ridman – he was a large, bear-like man with long, blonde hair shaved to the scalp on the sides and back of his head, while a long braid trailed down his back. His chest was broad, and his arms thick from swinging his hammer day in and day out.

The first time Harry had met the man, he’d only been nine, and had reached only to the man’s waist – at the time, Harry had thought him the largest man in the world, and he didn’t think his initial fear of the man was unjustified – for a child.

Harry shook himself. He was older now, more confident, and most importantly; he _knew_ Traven – he liked to come across as intimidating, but the moment any of the children of the castle rushed over during one of their games, he wouldn’t hesitate to pick them up and throw them around as they laughed and squealed.

Traven was a good man – serious about his work, and talented when it came to crafting armour; it had only made sense to commission his replacement chainmail and gorget from the man – the leather gambeson was far more easily replaced.

The armour had been completed the day before and had fit _perfectly_. Traven had moved around Harry with such a look of concentration on his face, he’d thought for a brief moment, that the gorget would be punctured by his sharp eyes, dark blue eyes. Harry had remained steadfastly still before him, watching bemusedly as the Armoursmith tugged on straps and adjusted the steel around his neck until it fit better than his old set – frankly, he couldn’t wait until he was old enough to commission a _Mithril_ set.

The chainmail had been far easier to try on, though he fully expected having to replace it within a year or two – Traven had muttered quite a few choice words about exactly how _annoying_ it was that his _Little Lord_ , a phrase which always threatened to throw him into days long-since-passed, was growing far too quickly.

Their time together had concluded shortly after that, with Traven laughing heartily as he’d peered around the forge, searching for Korb, Traven’s brother, who was, coincidentally, the castle’s Weaponsmith, and the reason for his excitement.

Korb was much like his older brother, only more athletic in build. While Traven had blonde hair and a blonde beard, Korb had brown – though they both styled their beards and hair the same way. Korb also had his brother’s eyes, though his were brighter, like two glowing, ethereal orbs in the sometimes quite dark building.

It was that brother that Harry now grinned at from across the table, just outside of the forge and under a small canopy propped up against the exterior wall of the building. The canvas above them whipped and cracked as the wind picked up suddenly and died down just as quickly. Storm clouds had, in the time since his discussion with Jaime Trevelyan earlier in the day, made themselves visible on the horizon to the north.

He watched with bated breath as the man pulled what was unmistakably a sword, wrapped in a bolt of thick cloth, from beneath the table before placing it down with a dull thud that made the table sway from side-to-side slightly.

“It is done.” Korb said, the left side of his face twitching into a quick grin of white teeth for a brief moment before disappearing.

With trembling hands, Harry gently unwound the cloth from the weapon. The material was surprisingly soft and thin, and while it looked like it had received use before, it didn’t stop him from taking the utmost care with it. When there was only one last piece to remove from the covered weapon, he inhaled shakily before quickly removing it.

There, resting on the table in the mid-afternoon light, was his new sword – a blade crafted specifically for _him_. It was sheathed in a fine scabbard – black, with fine silver, no, _Mithril_ wolves chasing after golden Phoenixes up and down the length of it. His fingers traced them lightly while his lips pressed tightly together, and his breath caught in his throat.

His eyes travelled further up, to the gleaming Mithril crossguard and the dark leather handle – the leather, as he peered closer at it, was scaled; no doubt a darkly-dyed dragonhide from the visible quality of it.

The pommel was the most gorgeous feature. On his old sword, he’d gotten used to the wolf’s head – he’d pulled it from the armoury, and it hadn’t been any different from any of the blades used by his Household Guard; but _this_ one… this one was _perfect_. There, at the base of the handle, was an exquisite bust of none other than _Clara_ , in gleaming Mithril – her feathers around her face were beautifully chased, and her gleaming, emerald eyes stared back at him as his fingers traced her features.

He picked the scabbard up with his left hand and wrapped his right around the grip, grinning as he felt the connection from within the handle. With a short, sharp pull, the blade became visible as he slid the scabbard halfway down. His eyes traced the blackened runes, etched into the surface on either side.

It had been why he had wanted the Basilisk venom in the first place. It had only been an idea – something he’d mentioned offhandedly to Sirius before meeting the Goblins. The runes would keep the blade sharp, strengthen the metal, and prevent it from chipping – similar to what all the sword in the castle had, only the Basilisk Venom made them hardier; that’s what Remus had assured him of, at least.

“How does it feel?” Korb asked, quirking his brow in such a way that it made the small, dark runes tattooed down the side of his face twitch.

“It feels…” Harry frowned, feeling his magic rushing to meet the familiar feeling in the hilt. “It feels perfect.” He said after a moment as the feeling subsided and the sword became to thrum in his grasp.

“She’ll be smug now, you know.” Felix muttered, and Harry grinned over at the man that was leaning against the thick wooden support beam. “You’ve nobody to blame but yourself.”

“I didn’t think it would work.” He admitted, pulling the blade entirely from the scabbard for the first time. It was a bastard sword, the same as what he had always used, though the Mithril was much lighter than the steel.

“It wasn’t easy to put her feather in the grip, but I managed it. You won’t be able to cast anything with it, but you’ll at least find it easier to channel your magic while swinging it.” Korb shrugged, leaning against the table on his forearms as Harry backed up a few paces.

“I appreciate you having tried to do it in any case. I know it couldn’t have been easy. I know I’ve said this already, but _Gods_ , it feels amazing.” Harry laughed, looking around him carefully – there was plenty of space around him – before taking a few practice swings with it; it sliced through the air with such ease, that for a moment, he almost lost his balance.

“The Little Lord has a new favourite toy, hm?” Korb grinned, pushing himself up and resting on his hands, his braid falling down over his shoulder. “You just make sure you’re careful with that thing, eh? Traven would be furious if he found out you nicked yourself with something _I_ made.”

“You sound more concerned about yourself than me.” Harry retorted with a roll of his eyes as he slid the blade back into the scabbard. “It almost hurts.”

Korb wagged a finger in his face from across the table, while Felix laughed heartily. “ _You_ don’t have to deal with Traven – _you_ get to go off to Hogwarts and slay impossible creatures. _I’ll_ be the one having to deal with the grumpy bear.”

“Could you let Traven know that I love the armour he made for me?” He asked, glancing into the forge where he could just make out the large, blonde man hammering away at an anvil while the apprentices were hurrying around him, scurrying from workbench to workbench.

“Aye, I’ll tell him – his witch will be pleased; she threatened to house him with the horses if he messed it up.” Korb winked, and Harry snickered. “Personally, I think the horses suffer more with that outcome, no?”

“I wouldn’t want Arlan to suffer through his grumpiness.” Harry smiled, shifting his grip on the scabbard. “I should get this up to my room – again, thanks. You’ve no idea how much this means to me.”

“It was my pleasure, my Lord.” Korb nodded before gathering up the cloth and moving over to the forge. Harry glanced at the still grinning Felix before ducking his head against the strengthening wind and heading back toward the castle.

He took the steps to the main doors two at a time, dancing up them deftly before shouldering open the large door. On either side of the entrance, the hanging cloth banners of his House snapped against the stone under another strong gust – his hair blew across his face one last time as he ducked into the quiet warmth of his castle, and Felix closed the door behind him.

The two of them stood in the entrance for a moment as Harry straightened his hair with his free hand, while Felix straightened the cloth of his armour and brushed the sandy-blonde hair back from his face. “I remember,” Felix began with an amused huff. “When you avoided those two like the plague.”

“Yes, well, they get less intimidating when you watch them get out-drank by Sirius.” Harry retorted with a snicker. He had been ten when that had happened; it had been during a feast, celebrating the harvest during one of his visits that year to the castle. The two men had been the loudest in the hall, singing their songs and dancing with their wives – Sirius had wandered around the hall, leaving him in the capable hands of Remus, Brandon, and Felix.

Sirius had mentioned something about mingling and stretching his legs, and Harry had been tired. He’d watched Sirius for a few minutes before Remus distracted him with a story about some Marauder escapade that his father had gotten them all involved in, and the next time he’d looked to his godfather, he’d caught him downing a tankard with the two brothers as they chanted and slammed their hands on the table.

It had been funny to watch, and even funnier to see the two brothers slumped over the table fast asleep as their wives laughed and talked – Sirius had been little better, and Brandon had chuckled to himself and taken him off to bed, while Remus had practically carried him back up to the Lord’s Chamber and tucked him in and kissed his forehead.

He turned and moved into the castle itself, quickly walking past the Great Hall, where it seemed many had congregated in, laughing, and talking the day away as the weather worsened. They passed a handful of men and women in the corridors – some guards, others were members of his Household; a pair of women he recognised from Lord Trevelyan’s entourage.

Finding that Clara had taken up residence in his room hadn’t surprised him – the Owlery was drafty, particularly on the upper-most floor where she preferred to hold her avian court. Over the years, on the nights where the wind was particularly biting, or the rain hammered the castle relentlessly, she often stayed the night, curled up on the desk between his balcony doors.

To see Clara snoozing there, with the two sayings of his House stamped into the wall above her, made something in his chest clench tightly. It had been the first time she’d stayed in the room since he’d had the words placed there, and it felt _right_. Perhaps, in visits to come, he could persuade her to stay in the room, like she did at Hogwarts.

After all, he hadn’t had quite as warm a night all summer than he did when Clara was curled up against him. Hedwig too – he wondered, briefly, just what his loyal owl was doing; hunting and keeping to herself, no doubt. It was dangerous for Hedwig to venture to Arpton, but a small, selfish part of him wanted her with him; Clara would look after her, protect her from the dangerous predators in the woods.

He placed the sword down on his bed, gently, so as not to wake the Phoenix and quickly hurried from the room, with Felix closing it with a gentle click just behind him. There was only a single guard in the corridor leading to his room, and the two of them nodded politely to them as they returned to the more public levels of the keep.

“Do you think Hedwig would be safe around here?” Harry asked as they meandered down the stairs – there was no other pressing business for the day; at least, there wouldn’t be if Sirius managed to keep Trevelyan occupied.

“You mean when you visit?” Felix murmured, frowning. “She’s just an owl, right?”

“A Snowy Owl – she’s smart, but that’s about it. I use her for letters, mostly, but it still feels… I don’t know, _uncomfortable_ , without her here.” He answered, tracing his fingers along the stone bricks of the spiral staircase. “I’ve always left her behind because of the predators in the woods – wouldn’t want a Dyre Wolf to snatch her out of a tree if they’re still about.”

“Oh, they’re still about – word has spread too, but seeing as they’re on _your_ land, none of the other Lords can hunt them.”

“I’m glad – not sure how Remus would have taken them coming to harm.”

“Not well, I’m sure. In any case, I think she’d be fine – but I wouldn’t use her for messages and the like while you’re here; just in case.” Felix said, patting his shoulder gently.

“I think I like you more like this, you know.”

“Like what?”

Harry smiled over his shoulder at him as they stepped onto a landing. “Like a friend, rather than the Head of my Guard.”

Felix chuckled and offered him a quick wink. “I’m both, my Lord – but if you ever need an ear, I have two.”

“Oh, knock it off.” Harry huffed, though he couldn’t have hidden the grin on his face, even if he had wanted to. He wandered over to one of the nearby windows and leaned against the stone archway as he peered down at the garden and the Oak.

“Something’s been bothering you since you got here.” Felix said gently, leaning against the stone on the other side of the window, propping his staff against his side as he clasped his hands before him. “I hope it’s nothing important.”

Harry blinked and looked away from the small bridge that connected the Great Oak to the rest of the garden and frowned as he pressed his lips tightly together for a moment as he glanced at Felix. “There’s a few things, I guess.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. “Ghosts aren’t real, right? There’s no way to communicate with the dead?”

Felix stood a little straighter and frowned deeply. “Of course not – the only thing that comes _close_ would be Familial Magic, but that’s only general impressions of those that came before you; and it’s defensive in nature. It’s there to protect you.”

“I thought as much.” He sighed, leaning his head against the cool stone.

“You’d usually be nose-deep in a book if something like _that_ was bothering you – do you want to tell me the rest of it?”

“Not really.” Harry muttered, closing his eyes as he breathed in deeply. “Maybe.” He sighed, opening his eyes only as he whispered, “Yes.”

Felix was silent, and Harry contented himself with staring out at the various flowerbeds beneath him, all arranged so that the garden took on the appearance of a heptagram around the tree. “I spoke to my mother, after fighting Ruhxu – Sirius assured me it wasn’t _her_ , but…”

“You wish it was.” Felix finished. “Oh, lad.” He said, just as he pulled Harry in for a hug. Anywhere else in the castle, and it would never have been permitted – he had to be the strong, powerful young man that in only three short years would be ruling and managing _everything_ his ancestors had built. He would be responsible for thousands, no, _hundreds_ -of-thousands of lives.

Harry buried his face in the soft cloth of Felix’s brigandine and wrapped his arms around the man. He wouldn’t cry – he’d wept the night he’d returned to Blackwall for his mother and father, and he _refused_ to be the little boy crying out into the dark for his parents while at Arpton. He would be strong, brave, and someone that they would be proud of.

He felt the armoured fingers comb through his hair soothingly as Felix hummed quiet nothings to him. “I miss them.” He murmured; his voice muffled by the brigandine.

“They’d be proud of you. Why don’t you tell me what happened, hm?” Felix whispered, and Harry nodded shakily.

“It was after the fight with Ruhxu – I was asleep in the Hospital Wing, and I was dancing with my mother in a tent, like the one Sirius got married in, and…” He trailed off, squeezing Felix that little bit tighter. “We talked. She said she was proud of me and that she loves me.”

“And I’m sure she does.” Felix whispered, patting the back of his head gently. “We’re _all_ proud of you. It’s not the life you should have had, I’m sure, but you’ve thrived regardless.”

Harry smiled, though he was sure it came across as more of a grimace with the way his lips pressed so tightly together. He sighed as he leaned back. “Sorry – you probably think I’m being stupid.”

“Never.” Felix said, his voice strong as he laid his hands on his shoulders. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – you’re a _remarkable_ boy. None of us could be prouder of you. Now, I’m not sure _what_ happened, and I won’t ask what the two of you spoke about, but it won’t do to dwell on it too much. Take solace in what was said and use it to strengthen your resolve to be the man we all see in you.”

He nodded shakily up at the Battlemage before glancing out to the garden again, though he wrapped a hand around one of Felix’s wrists and gave it a thankful squeeze. “I will.” He sniffed, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. “I just wish…”

“I know.” Felix offered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. “But if you focus too much on _what if’s_ and _maybe’s_ , you’ll forget to live.”

“You’re not the first to tell me that, you know.”

“Oh? Who else is as wise as I am?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“I know that name.” Felix muttered, and Harry looked at him, only to see his brow furrowed in thought. “An old family.”

“Will he have any family here?” Harry blinked, genuinely curious – there was little that he’d been able to read about anywhere that had much information on the Dumbledore’s. With the Headmaster, he seemed larger than life, mysterious and like a figure out of history.

“Not likely. I don’t think there’s been any record of the Dumbledore’s here for hundreds of years – until that war a few decades ago, I don’t think anyone expected them to be around.”

“That’s a shame.” He sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek absently. “He’s probably the last of his family – like me. I think,” He paused for a moment; his brow creasing between his eyes as he licked his lips. “I think I feel a bit sorry for him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Everyone deserves to have a family.” Harry shrugged. “I think he can be a bit of an arse – especially with what happened with my father’s cloak, but everyone can be.” He flashed a cheeky grin up at the man beside him. “Even _you_.”

“Harsh words, my Lord.”

“I’ve got harsher ones for each time you’ve planted me in the dirt.” He huffed as Felix chuckled. The two were content to remain quiet for a few minutes before Harry’s eyes found themselves trailing back toward Felix once more. “There’s… something else that’s been bothering me.”

“Oh?”

“It’s something I got for my birthday – from one of my friends.”

“What was it?”

“A statue of Ruhxu with a letter-knife through the roof of its mouth. I appreciated the gift, and that it’s probably the only one of its kind, but…”

“You think it a bit tasteless?”

Harry nodded and chewed on his bottom lip. “I know she didn’t mean anything by it, but…”

“Have you considered it’s no different to you mounting Ruhxu’s skull?” Felix asked, after a moment. “For most of the year, you’re not here, and that building is open to any within the castle. To most, it’s a display of your achievements – the boy who killed the feared Basilisk of Hogwarts. Only those close to _you_ know you’re honouring the snake because you feel guilty for what she suffered.”

“But-“

Felix held up his hand, and Harry’s jaw snapped shut. “You’re a Parselmouth – you have a connection with serpents that not many witches or wizards can achieve. You spent a good deal of time wanting to kill the creature, correct?” Harry nodded, slowly. “It wasn’t until _after_ that you felt guilt. _That_ is the difference between your gift, and those around you. They will only ever see a dangerous beast that you thwarted against impossible odds.”

“But I _told_ them how it made me feel.”

“But they’re _not_ Parselmouths. I won’t begin to pretend to understand how you feel about it all – I’m not one either. I can only speak as someone who knows you and is _trying_ to understand your gift – just like your friends.”

“I feel bad for not being comfortable with it.” He muttered, glancing at the large stones in the wall – he picked at the edge of a brick absently with his finger as he traced the edge.

“You’re well within your rights to not be comfortable with something, lad. Not every gift you receive will be perfect.” Felix shrugged, smiling through his neatly trimmed beard. “What was your favourite by the way? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Harry pursed his lips and ran the tip of his tongue across the back of his teeth for a moment as he thought on all that he’d been given. It was too much, in his opinion. He’d received too much from friends and family, and _far_ too much from his Bannermen and his Household – it had been overwhelming arriving at Arpton and being swarmed with gifts.

“My pendant.” He nodded, tugging the small chain out from beneath his doublet. “From Arcturus.”

“I’m sorry,” A new, deeper voice offered quietly. “Are you speaking of the late Lord Black? I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Harry spun at the sound, and he watched as Felix straightened as his staff slapped into his palm and crackled with magical energy. Standing on the last step leading to the lower floor was none other than Elbert Crane – his large form _barely_ fitting between the inner and outer wall. For the first time since his arrival, he wasn’t wearing his spiked armour, instead, dressed in a simple, dark doublet with the sigil of his family on his breast.

“Lord Crane.” Harry nodded, warily. “We didn’t hear you coming.”

“No, I suppose not – despite my size, I’ve always been told I’m remarkably light on my feet. I’m sorry to have startled the two of you.”

“Can we help you with anything, Lord Crane?”

“Elbert, please, Lord Potter.” Crane replied, placing a hand on his breast, and bowing his head. “I was just taking a stroll – I’m not anywhere I shouldn’t be, I hope?”

“No – just as long as you go no higher than this floor. Were you looking for any part of the castle in particular?” Harry asked, keeping an eye on Felix out of the corner of his eye – the man had relaxed some, but still appeared tense.

“Not really.” Elbert shrugged as he stepped onto the landing fully and made his way slowly over to the next window down from the one the two of them were stood by. “My, the weather looks like it’s about to take a turn for the worst. If it’s clear tomorrow, I believe we’ll likely begin our journey back to the Capitol.”

“Eager to return, I take it?”

“Not particularly, my Lord – though, I will admit, it can be quite interesting if given the opportunity.”

“Oh?”

Elbert chuckled and clasped his large hands at the small of his back. “Oh, aye – take the Great Council just last year. There wasn’t a man there more impressive than the Lord Arcturus.”

“You were there?” Harry frowned, cocking his head to the side. “I assume as a Vassal for House Trevelyan?”

“I was – though, I’ll admit, it didn’t go quite the way I had imagined it would.” Elbert said, turning to face the two of them. Harry leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

“I was accused of inciting rebellion, if I understand it all.”

“Not _quite_ , my Lord.” Lord Crane chuckled, mimicking his pose. “There were _rumours_ of a rebellion backed by yourself, though none particularly believed it – the Council was organised as a way to get to the bottom of it all without marching into your lands. Both Lord Black’s assured us all that there was nothing nefarious going on – Lord Trevelyan himself was quite relieved.”

“Indeed – well, if you wouldn’t mind, I have duties I should probably see to before we eat this evening.” Harry smiled tightly, bowing his head politely as he led Felix toward the stairs.

Elbert’s voice froze him in his tracks. “I fought with Arcturus; you know. Only the one time, but it was… _remarkable_.”

Harry turned to look at the large man, who had turned his head to peer down at the gardens below. “Where? During the war, I take it?”

“I watched Arcturus defeat twelve powerful wizards and witches. His magic was… _awe-inspiring_.” Elbert murmured; his voice surprisingly soft in the quiet of the corridor. “At one point, he lost his wand – but he kept fighting. They had him backed into a corner, and not once did he let them get the better of him.”

“Where were you in all of this?” Harry frowned, his free hand reaching up to curl around the pendant.

“I wasn’t in a position to assist him.” Elbert said, glancing over his shoulder at him. “To hear of how he died… well, I try not to think about it too much. I see a bit of him in you, however – I’m quite looking forward to seeing how you turn out.”

“He was the best I could have asked for.” Harry murmured, glancing down at the fist that clasped the pendant. He shook himself after a moment and cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Lord Crane – I really must get back to my duties.”

“Of course.” Lord Crane said, bowing in return. “Regardless, I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, Lord Potter. I look forward to continuing our conversation.”

Harry bowed one last time before quickly turning on his heel and hurrying down the stairs with the pendant still clasped in his hand – the clanking steps of Felix right behind him the only comforting sound as he made his way back to the castle-proper and the guests and duties that awaited him.

* * *

The emptiness of Arpton had been something that, for the last two days, had been something that had stood out to Harry like a sore thumb. As much as he disliked having to host the Trevelyan family within his castle walls, there had been a liveliness to the fortress that had, in some ways, reminded him of Hogwarts.

In fact, for the week that the Trevelyan’s had stayed at the castle, he had often caught himself sweeping his surroundings, looking for Neville’s face, or Daphne’s, or Tracey’s, or even Hermione’s. It felt like an age since he had last seen them all, laughing and joking with one another – like a lifetime, though that was most likely the stress of the past week talking.

The courtyard had become less busy, and in the evenings, the Great Hall felt much larger than it had before. With all of their guests, it had become constricting in the evening meals, trying to fit everyone inside. Now, with House Trevelyan gone, it felt like there was _too much_ space. Each evening, he abandoned his position at the High Table, and settled himself among those that worked and lived at the castle.

He would listen to their stories and tales of monsters and heroes – he would laugh with them, and drink with them, though his was much more watered down than their own. The first night after House Trevelyan’s departure, he had joined in with their singing, and banged his tankard against the table as Sirius and Amelia danced with the other couples.

Susan had tried to coax him into dancing, but he had declined – though when he saw her laughing and joking with one of the other children of the castle, a boy named Jacob, whose parents worked in the kitchens, he couldn’t help but be glad. Sirius had spun Amelia around and around, their laughter ringing out above the chorused singing – Jacob had picked Susan up during a crescendo at one point, her startled squeak making him laugh and cheer with those around him.

Each night, he returned to his bed, bone-tired and weary from a hard day’s work, and he’d sink into the sheets after stripping off his clothes, and he would dream of his own dances, beneath a large canvas tent and the warm, flickering light of candles.

Clara kept him company, having remained in his room each night rather than sleeping in her nest in the Owlery; she would curl up in the crook of her neck, the warm feathers of her wing spread languidly across his chest, and both mornings, he had awoken to her gentle nips along his ear. It was exactly what he had needed following the headache that had been the last week.

He had thought himself able to relax around his castle once again – to be able to breathe a little easier and prepare himself for the inevitable return to Hogwarts and normalcy; something which always seemed to elude him during his short stays at Arpton. There was always _something_.

And so, he found himself once more in the courtyard of Arpton with his hands clasped at the small of his back, and his brow arched as he watched the pair of riders enter on horseback. They had arrived with no warning, and frankly, he was getting tired of people turning up out of the blue.

He eyed the elder, atop a white mare – his hair was just long enough to skim his shoulders, which were adorned in hard, brown leather armour. His hair was black, though it held a unique blue tint when the light struck it, which was a stark contrast to the pale skin the man had.

The younger of the two had an oriental look about him, closely resembling Sue Li, though looking between the two, the two were obviously related – father and son, judging by the similar high cheekbones and strong jaws. On both of their breasts was the sigil of a leaping Kelpie – House Griffin, of The Rose Tower to the west.

That it was House Griffin – no doubt the Lord Arron, and his son and heir, Cai – made the unique blue-tints to the dark hair of both visitors make that much more sense. House Griffin was a House of _Morgen_ ; near-humans with an affinity for water, and by extension, the sea – House Potter had waged war against them almost two thousand years ago, and as a result, House Griffin had become their staunchest supporters.

He watched both father and son drop down from their horses – both glancing at one another as they made their way over to him. Sirius remained by his side, as did Remus, Felix, and Brandon. Upon reaching him, both dropped to a knee, bowing their heads.

“My Lord – forgive our sudden appearance.” Arron, the Lord Griffin, said. His voice was deep and powerful. Harry gestured for them both to rise. Arron was of a similar height to Remus, standing proudly at a little over six foot, while Cai was a head taller than himself.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He asked, straining to remain at least semi-formal. At least, if the two of them planned to stay for an extended period, he could actually kick them out of the castle before returning to Hogwarts for his education – something he wouldn’t have been able to do to the Trevelyan’s.

“I come with an offer, Lord Potter – one that I didn’t wish to convey through letter.”

“Very well – be welcome to Arpton Keep, Lord Griffin. As one of my Bannermen, my castle is yours for as long as you wish to stay. Would you like to partake in Guest Right?”

“No, Lord Potter – we would never presume to feel unsafe within your walls.” Arron nodded, his face stoic; as Harry’s eyes swept over his face, not so much as a muscle twitched. Harry nodded once before gesturing for the two of them to follow him.

He hurried up the steps, taking two at a time, momentarily enjoying the breeze that whispered its way across his stomach and back as his loose tunic got caught on the gentle wind. There had been a time when Harry would only ever wear a formal doublet – he’d done it often, in fact, around Hogwarts, but these days, the simple pleasure of a thin, light, and most importantly, loose, tunic was much more preferable.

Harry led the way through the castle – they passed the Great Hall and hurried up the first staircase they came across to the third floor. He marched on, passing sconces of white balls of light and stone gargoyles of wolves – out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the Great Oak and the gardens below through the windows on the outer wall. He ducked into a room, unlocking the door with a simple wave of his hand, and held it open for all those that had followed him.

Sirius entered first, with Felix right behind him. The two Griffins came next, with Brandon bringing up the rear. Once everyone was inside, he closed the door with a quiet click, and turned to face the room.

It was the official study of the Lord Potter – the formal one, at least. It was darker than he liked it – the stone walls were dark, and the varnished floorboards were covered in beautiful, thick rugs of pale blue and grey. All around the room were motifs of wolves, and portraits of the most famous of the Potter’s. In the middle of the room was a large table, rough from use, but well looked after regardless. Chairs surrounded it, though none compared to the high-backed, throne-like chair that sat behind the desk at the far wall, flanked by tall bookshelves.

He quickly sank into the chair and watched as everyone else in the room settled themselves in at the table – it was crescent shaped and made to force all those at the table to look to _him_ , a bit of a subconscious show of power that one ancestor or another had decided to incorporate. He threaded his fingers together over his stomach as he looked between the faces of those before him – his lips twitched upwards in the corners as he spotted Dobby popping around the table and placing drinks before disappearing again.

“So, what’s this offer that you came all this way for?” He asked, folding his legs as he looked to Lord Griffin.

“First of all, my Lord, I would just like to ask – the rumours of you having defeated a Basilisk with a sword; are they true?” Lord Griffin asked, glancing at the others around the table.

“They are.” He nodded, once. “Her skull is mounted in my family’s trophy room in a place of honour. I’m sure Lord Aves would be more than happy to show it to you after this meeting.”

“And it happened during your school year, correct?”

“At the end of it, aye – within Salazar Slytherin’s _Chamber of Secrets_.”

Harry’s eyes darted to Cai Griffin, who shifted in his seat nervously as he glanced toward his father, who, himself, was staring quietly at the cup he held between his hands. “In that case, I would offer you my firstborn son and heir, to guard your back in your time at Hogwarts.”

Utter silence filled the room, and all Harry could do was blink as his mouth fell open in shock. “I’m sorry?” He asked, his eyes darting to the other adults in the room.

“Harry’s at school, not marching off to war.” Sirius frowned, tapping his finger against the wood of the table. “Your son is older, and there’s no guarantee he would be placed into the same House.”

“Not to mention I’ll be there myself this year,” Remus began, throwing a small glare at Sirius, who simply grinned smugly, before continuing. “as part of the faculty.”

“Truthfully, my Lords, word has reached us that through both years at his school in Scotland, Lord Potter has faced mortal peril on more than one occasion.” Lord Griffin looked his way, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching as he swallowed. “My Lord, as your Bannermen, we are _worried_ – if you should fall, then so too will the Family Magic we are bound to you by. House Griffin wishes to stand by our oaths and protect you where we can.”

“I’ll not be followed around school by a bodyguard, Lord Griffin – nor do I presume to think this is what Cai wishes.” Harry answered him, breathing in deeply and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb.

Cai stood as the feet of his chair scraped across the rug beneath the table. “My Lord, I wish to ensure your safety – there are none more important to House Griffin than House Potter.”

“Are we even considering the _logistics_ of this? Aye, it’s all well and good you wanting to protect Lord Potter, but can you even _get_ to Scotland?”

“We have our Ro’rim, and our lands remain maintained in Bangor – Cai has been well educated, though it’s primarily been here. He’s a strong dueller.”

“Why you – why House Griffin? Why not House Lovegood? Aves? Hawke? Wass? Llewellyn?” Sirius asked, leaning back in his chair, and tracing a finger back and forth across his moustache. “Are you trying to curry favour?”

Arron’s eyes went wide as he held up his hands. “Of course not, my Lord! We-“ He said, breathing deeply and pausing for a moment. “We haven’t had a Lord Potter since your grandfather, Charlus, and even then, he died young and with only the one heir. My Lord, your Vassals are _concerned_ – rightfully so.”

“So, you thought to offer up your son and heir.” Harry sighed, tiredly. “I assume, then, that Cai is the only one of age from the families?”

“He is – the closest one was Xayvion Lovegood, heir to House Lovegood.”

“I thought you told me there was one at Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, frowning, as he looked to him.

Harry shook his head slowly. “Luna – his cousin. Daughter of Xenophilius.”

“Forgive me, but who is Xenophilius?” Arron blinked, looking around the room in confusion. “I wasn’t aware Lord Xenophon had a younger brother?”

“He doesn’t.” Remus said, swiping a hand through his hair. “Xenophilius is the older brother. He renounced his lands and titles in the fifties, shortly after his younger brother was born – he runs a magazine in Britain, _The Quibbler_ , and goes on expeditions to find creatures in his spare time.”

“He… I’m sorry, _what_?”

“From everything Lord Black has said over the years, I think it’s a good thing that Xenophon is the Lord we have, and not Xenophilius. Do we know much about his daughter?”

“A loner, usually, but I’ve noticed she has some friends around the school.” Harry smiled, thinking of the distant girl with a little fondness. He hadn’t often spoken to her beyond exchanging simple pleasantries as they passed in the corridor, but there was a way about her that left him feeling a little lighter after each brief meeting.

“Could she be enlisted to help protect you?” Lord Griffin asked, leaning forward in his chair, eagerly.

“She’s the year below me, and frankly, I’m not sure what she knows and what she doesn’t. I’m usually with my friends – Neville Longbottom, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Hermione Granger – most of the time. The other students are wary of me enough – walking around with a pair of bodyguards would just alienate me further.”

“Wary? Why?” Cai asked, his brow furrowed as he tucked his hair behind an ear. At Harry’s look, he bowed his head and offered a quiet, “My Lord.”

Harry sighed and allowed his head to fall back against the back of the chair. “I’m a Parselmouth – it isn’t a good thing in Britain.”

“That’s stupid.” Cai muttered with a scoff, though it was loud enough that Harry heard it, which made him laugh, even as the dark-haired boy blushed as the adults around him chuckled. “Sorry.”

“No, I think it’s stupid too.” Harry grinned, shifting in his chair for a moment. “So, why should I trust my safety within the castle to you? Regardless of what your father said or thinks.”

The entire room turned to look at Cai, and Harry felt a little satisfied at seeing the older boy swallow nervously. “You’re my future Liege Lord. The tragedy of your parents is known, even here – I grew up on stories of your ancestors and mine. It would be my honour to do what I could to protect you, and…”

“Out with it, lad.” Felix said, when Cai hesitated and looked to his father.

“And my mother attended Hogwarts – it would be nice to see the castle.”

Harry breathed out slowly and traced his finger absently along his jaw as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He glanced at Sirius, who shrugged, Remus, who nodded, and both Brandon and Felix who, like Sirius, nodded. “If you join me at Hogwarts, I want you to focus on your studying more than me – is that understood?”

Cai darted around the table so quickly, Harry hadn’t even seen him rise from his chair before he was kneeling before the desk with his head bowed. “Yes, Lord Potter – _thank you_.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” Harry scoffed. “Save that until after your first Quidditch match, though I’m warning you, if you end up anywhere other than Gryffindor, don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because.” He grinned, standing, and stepping around the desk. Cai rose as he gestured for him to do so, though he looked a little bewildered when Harry held his hand out to him. “And please, call me Harry.”

“Harry.” Cai grinned, clasping it and giving it a firm squeeze. “Call me Cai.”

* * *

His time at Arpton Keep had ended the day after the impromptu meeting with House Griffin – both Lord and Heir had returned to their own castle, and if Harry were honest with himself, he quite looked forward to seeing how Cai handled Hogwarts.

Returning to Blackwall had felt like the most relaxing of baths – the tension washed from his shoulders like a waterfall, and he had barely managed to make it up to his bedroom without collapsing from the relief.

Of all of his trips to Arpton, the most recent had been the most stressful. Arpton had always been like an adventure to him – an escape from the troubles of Britain and everything that came with it; the stress of being _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ , and the scrutiny of the Wizengamot as the last Potter. Arpton, while he had always strived to fulfil his duties and responsibilities, had always been _different_.

Arpton was such a different place to Britain – not even Rosestone could compare with its like. _Everything_ about that world was magical, from the smallest pebble, to the largest dragon, magic saturated the very ground they walked, and the very air they breathed. It was like something out of his favourite stories; like walking through _Middle-Earth_ with Frodo, and Aragorn. He smiled to himself as his fingers traced the leather-bound spine of _The Fellowship Of The Ring_ on the bookshelf by his bed.

Despite all of the stress, he did feel content with what had happened – Brandon had sworn to get to the bottom of the missing messages from House Trevelyan, and why none had alerted them to the party that had arrived at his gate.

House Trevelyan would have passed Enith’s Hold, one of the castles that guarded the southern passes into his lands, and Redbrook city before passing Cochenwaith itself – that not _one_ had alerted him had vexed him.

With a sigh, he turned from his bookshelf and wandered over to his bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress gently before collapsing back and staring up at the canopy above him while his arms spread themselves wide. As stressful and confusing as House Trevelyan’s visit had been, it hadn’t been a _complete_ write-off.

One of the things he most loved doing while at Arpton was learning magic – the previous summer, he’d learned _Oblecto_ , and _Reium_ – this year, he’d been able to learn _five_! He still had to practice, but he was able to form each with his wand – the more he practiced, the stronger they would become.

 _Eviulsis_ was his favourite in his new arsenal – a spell he recalled Clara Appleton performing during the ambush along the road. With enough intent, he’d be able to blast forks of lightning-like-magic at his opponents – the more power he put into it, the more devastating the spell. After all, he’d watched Clara cook a man on the spot. He scrunched his nose as the distant memory of charred flesh clawed its way to the front of his mind.

He’d learned two other offensive spells as well; _Leveous_ , which would shoot a ball of ice from the tip of his wand – a useful bludgeoning spell that he’d seen Felix annihilate training dummies with, and _Decimori_. He’d been subjected to _Decimori_ on more than one occasion – it was Felix’s favourite spell to use in their training sessions; it was a violent stunner, capable of _shattering_ bones on impact if enough power was channelled through it – luckily for him, Felix had excellent control and never gave him more than a bruise.

He hadn’t only learned offensive spells either – _Morego_ and _Sluaris_ were powerful shield charms that could be useful in plenty of situations. _Sluaris_ was perfect for defending a group; something they could have used years ago, but it wasn’t as well known as _Morego_ , which was similar to _Protego_ in use.

 _Sluaris_ was his favourite – it was _beautiful_! He’d watched Felix perform it, and he’d been left breathless by the shimmering, golden barrier that had formed around him, thrumming with magical energy that had felt _intoxicating_ when he’d ghosted his fingers across its surface.

He closed his eyes with a contented exhale and threaded his fingers together behind his head. He was at Blackwall now, not at Arpton – he was in _his_ room, not the Lord’s Chamber. Everything was different around him. His room at Blackwall smelled of old parchment, and the heady scent of old oak – Arpton smelled of fresh flowers, pine trees, and that distinct, crisp scent that always came with a fast-moving river. It was like night and day.

 _Merlin_ , even his sheets smelled different!

He chuckled to himself as he felt the bed bounce just behind his head, and opened his eyes to see the wide, eager eyes of Dobby hovering over him. He laughed and reached up to scratch the little Elf behind his large ears, which made the little creature giggle uncontrollably.

“Hello you.” He said after a moment, sitting up and crawling onto the bed a little more before folding his legs beneath him. “Bored?”

“No, Master Harry. Dobby bes having his hands full thanks to Lispy – plenty of work to do.”

“You’re hiding from her, aren’t you?” He asked with a sly grin and a wink as he leaned back against the headboard. He patted the spot next to him, which Dobby scurried to with a little squeak.

“Dobby would _never_ hide from such a little Elf.” Dobby huffed, though his wide, darting eyes, and nervous glance to either side of him said something quite different. “Dobby just remembers how good Lispy bes with that frying pan.”

Harry chuckled at the memory – almost a full year to the day of their return from Arpton, when they’d discovered Dobby battling the Elves of House Black to deliver a warning. He could still see Lispy on the Elf’s shoulders, a thick, cast-iron pan in hand as she struck Dobby over and over. He wrapped an arm around Dobby’s small shoulders and pulled him into his side.

“Oh, don’t be afraid of Lispy – she’s all bark and no bite.” He grinned, only to jump at the resounding crack. There, standing with her feet on either side of his crossed legs, was an indignant-looking Lispy, with a feather-duster in one hand. She leaned forward and flicked him between the eyes before looking at Dobby with a huff and popping away again. Harry frowned and rubbed the spot tenderly. “She used to be nicer.” He called, hoping she’d hear beyond his door.

Dobby giggled behind his hands before scooting into his side a little further. “Dobby be liking being yous Elf, Master Harry.” The Elf said, after a quiet moment. “It bes… _fulfilling_.”

“I’m glad.” Harry smiled, giving Dobby another squeeze. “You’re part of my family now – I couldn’t imagine it without you.”

Dobby sniffed suspiciously, but looked up at him with a watery smile, nonetheless. “Is Master Harry happy to be home, sir?”

“I don’t know where that is.” He replied, quietly, and with a shrug of his shoulders. “I grew up here, but I spend most of the year at Hogwarts. Arpton is where I’ll probably raise my family, and Rosestone is… _intimidating_.”

“Island castle _definitely_ be intimidating.” Dobby agreed with a nod so quick his ears flapped. “Arpton bes _full_ of magic though – Potter Elves be _very_ strong.”

“Spend a lot of time with them, did you?”

“They welcome Dobby with open arms.” Dobby grinned, clapping his hands happily. “They can’t wait to bond with you. Very impatient.”

Harry chuckled and leaned his head back against the headboard with a quiet thud. “I’ll bet – only three years to go. Not long now.”

Dobby fidgeted in his arm, and he glanced down at the Elf curiously. “Is Master… _happy_?”

Harry blinked at the question and opened his mouth to answer, only, nothing came out. He closed it, before trying again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it just be that Master Harry Potter Sir has been quiet after coming out of the Cold Place.” The Elf said, quietly. In the pause between Dobby’s words, and his response, the curtains on either side of his bed wafted in the breeze from the open windows, just as Hedwig flew through.

The Snowy Owl landed on the bed with a flutter of her large, white wings and hopped up on his left thigh before walking the length of him, nipping at the few loose strands of hair she could reach from his lap.

He smiled and scratched her under the chin with a finger before sighing as he glanced down at the Elf snuggled into his side. “The Cold Place? I assume you mean the Potter Crypt?”

“Yes – Elves be calling it the Cold Place. Wes not be welcome down there – must be _ever_ so dirty, but, Humans bes knowing best, I suppose.”

Harry chuckled, and lightly flicked the least sensitive part of Dobby’s far ear, while the little Elf grinned up at him, and Hedwig continued to preen under his attentions. “I visited my parents – talked to them. Happy isn’t something I’d call myself after seeing them.”

“It bes hard, to visit loved ones.” Dobby nodded solemnly as the smile fell from his face. “They always be with us, though – it bes nice thought.”

“I’m lucky to be surrounded by you lot then, aren’t I?” He said, making his voice sound far more enthusiastic than he truly felt. “I’ve got you two, Sirius, Remus, Amelia, Susan, _Clara_ -”

Hedwig barked and nipped the tip of his finger at the sound of the Phoenix’s name.

“-all of the other House Elves here, and I’ve got my friends at school.”

Dobby shifted in his arm and pulled out a handful of envelopes before placing them in his lap – they were tied with string, and already, he could see Daphne’s neat, cursive scrawl on the top-most one. “That reminds me – Master Harry be wanting letters from friends. Dobby collected them from mean Kreacher.”

He grinned as he gave Dobby one last squeeze before retrieving his arm, so as to untie the small stack. “Thanks, Dobby. Do you want to read them with me?”

Dobby shook his head and gave a little sigh as he got to his feet and wiped down his uniform. “No, Dobby best bes getting back to work – Lispy _sure_ to wave pot as it is.”

“Good luck.” Harry chuckled, waving at the Elf as he popped away – Hedwig wasted no time in occupying the spot the Elf had just vacated, and Harry rolled his eyes and quickly scratched the feathers on top of her head. “Let’s get these open, shall we?”

Hedwig barked and fluttered her wings and nipped at the string. He chuckled as he unwound it and quickly opened Daphne’s letter. It was simple, filled with the things that she’d been up to during his extended trip – she’d attended a ball, and went on to complain _emphatically_ about the fools she had been forced to suffer, which made him laugh.

Neville’s was next – he’d spent the summer learning under Augusta about their family history and toured some of his lands. Neville lamented the number of times Augusta had cuffed him for falling asleep when she’d go on about the Wizengamot, which he made sure to read _twice_ for Hedwig, which made her bob her head excitedly.

Tracey’s came after, though this came with a photograph of the largest creature he had ever seen – it was the dragon from Cardiff – she’d visited it again, and in the photo, she could clearly be seen standing in front of the magical barrier surrounded the gargantuan beast, grinning and waving excitedly at the camera; in the background, two puffs of smoke shot out of the nostril of the creature while it slumbered.

Hermione’s was last, and she went on about her stay in France, and how she had visited the magical districts in Biarritz, along the south coast, and stayed in something called the _Radisson Blu Hotel_ – he assumed, from how she sung of its praises, that it was delightful.

Of course, there were half a dozen pictures of her and her parents, all in various summer clothing; though he nearly choked on his own spit at the sight of Hermione standing in knee-high water with her parents on either side of her – her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and the sun behind them caught the droplets of water running down the front of her shoulders, towards…

His eyes darted back up, and he stared at the door opposite him, wide-eyed, as his breathing sped up. Hedwig barked quietly at his side as she inched closer. He frowned and held the picture away from her. “Hey, back off – this isn’t appropriate for you!”

Hedwig fluttered her wings and bobbed her head. There was _no way_ anyone else was _ever_ seeing _that_ photograph – _Merlin_ , he could barely even believe it himself. He knew she must wear them, but to think that he’d gotten a glimpse of Hermione in a _bathing suit_ … _at the beach_!

His eyes darted to it once again, and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose as his eyes traced her once again – her skin was tanned from the sun, and the sunlight made the few loose strands of hair around her face almost glow golden. Her smile was wide, and he could almost hear her laughter, and for a moment, he felt like he was there with her. _Gods_ , how long had it been since he’d seen the ocean himself?

He put the other photos down on his bedside table, and quickly stood – much to Hedwig’s disapproval. He ignored her barks, and quickly opened up the box that contained all his most precious things and placed it on top of everything inside. Perhaps next summer, they could all do something, _go_ somewhere, together.

But first, they had the coming year to get through – there would be classes, Quidditch matches, feasts, studying, and inevitably, exams to get through; not to mention the biggest privilege of those in third year and above…

 _Hogsmeade_.


	42. Amelia I

She frowned as she felt a tiny hand gently shaking her shoulder. Amelia burrowed into Sirius’s side just a little more, groaning tiredly and breathing in his musky scent that was so uniquely _Sirius_ – at least he didn’t smell of wet dog half the time anymore like he had in Hogwarts.

Her husband had changed so much since the two of them had first met – he had been older than her, one fourth of the infamous _Marauders_ , and just as infamously, he’d been a _Black_. House Black had a reputation for spawning men and women who thought themselves better than those around them, who preached, in the more recent generations, of _Blood Purity_ – it hadn’t been any surprise that more than a few had agreed and espoused the Dark Lord’s agenda.

Sirius had been different, though. He had walked the halls of Hogwarts with a confident swagger – his shoulder-length, dark curls, which she absolutely _loved_ to run her fingers through when she got the opportunity, would sway back and forth with each stride. She could remember the carefree grin he would walk around with, and the way he’d laugh with James Potter, and the young Remus Lupin.

Those smiles, and that easy laugh were nothing more than a distant memory these days – Sirius had grown up, matured past the charming young man that had caught her eye all those years ago. Fatherhood suited him – that much had been obvious in the years that she had quietly kept an eye on him as she worked her way up the ranks of the Ministry.

She had grown up as well – she was no longer the same idealistic young woman that had signed up with the Aurors straight out of Hogwarts. She had lost her brothers and had become a parent herself with Susan; a young woman that made her so immensely proud. In truth, she saw much of herself in Susan, and plenty of Sirius in Harry; though she also saw more than a fair share of both James and Lily, though she didn’t know either of them particularly well.

The last year had disappointed her – Harry had been ostracised by the school simply because of a gift he had no control over, though she’d admit to herself that hearing how he had beaten Lucius’s son half to death had worried her. She knew that Susan had a strong sense of right and wrong – no doubt a result of her own profession that had unwittingly been passed on – but knowing how she hadn’t stood up for Harry?

She frowned once again as the little hand shook her bare shoulder.

A muffled whimper escaped her lips as her hair fell in front of her face and tickled her nose, which scrunched up at the tickling sensation. Her arms wrapped a little tighter around her husband, and she had to stop herself from purring like a cat as her fingertips ghosted over the hard muscles of his shoulders.

“Lady Black.” A small, quiet voice whispered frantically. “Lady Black must bes waking up.”

She cracked an eye open slowly and peered into the dark of the bedroom – the moonlight crept in through the gaps in the curtains, and a pair of green orbs were next to the bed, blinking worriedly at her. “Milpy?” She groaned, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist. “What time is it?”

“It bes one in the morning, Lady Black.” The Elf whispered apologetically, and the eyes dipped a fraction in the dark – Amelia assumed the little Head Elf had curtsied. “There bes a Floo Call for you in Lord Black’s office.”

“Who is it?” She yawned, slowly extricating her arm from beneath Sirius, who groaned quietly and rolled on his side to face her – his eyes were still closed, and his lips were parted ever-so-slightly in the most adorable way. His hand snaked out of its own accord and wrapped itself comfortingly around her bare thigh as she began to inch out from beneath the covers. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“It bes Ministry, Lady Black. Head Auror Scrimgeour.” The Elf replied, with Sirius giving a soft moan in his sleep that had her momentarily stilling in her movements.

She reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair out of her husband’s face and pressed a chaste kiss to his nose, grinning proudly to herself as his face relaxed. Once out of the bed, only a few moments later, and the skin of her thigh tingling where Sirius’s fingers had dragged across it in the headiest of ways, she wrapped herself in her silk dressing gown, and followed the Elf out of the room.

Blackwall was as silent as a crypt at this time of the night – down the hall, through the cracked open door, she could hear the combined snores of Harry and his two Familiars, and she paused just long enough to check in on Susan; the girl also being fast asleep, cocooned in her duvet.

It was easy enough to know Remus was out for the night, with the way his snores carried through his door as easily as if it were wide open – whichever poor woman had that to look forward to in her future, she had Amelia’s heartfelt sympathies. Though, in truth, she couldn’t blame the man – between his condition and how hard he worked himself each day… he deserved as much rest as he could get.

She padded down the stairs quietly; her arms wrapped tightly around herself so as to try and ward off the midnight chill of the house – her dressing gown provided some comfort, but the lace Cami top and shorts did little to do much of anything other than to entice Sirius’s wandering hands.

The rather smug smile that wormed its way onto her lips helped to wake her up a little more as she stepped into the hallway running down the centre of the house – Milpy looked over her shoulder at her oddly, no doubt confused where her sudden good mood had come from, which, despite being a happily married adult, made her cheeks heat a little.

Milpy opened the door to Sirius’s study, and Amelia found herself greeted by the roaring flames of the Floo – there was no heat provided by the emerald fire, and she found herself frowning as she padded into the chilly room. A face began to form within the flames, and Amelia wrapped the dressing gown around herself more tightly.

“Amelia.” The familiar voice said, stiffly, just as the flames finished forming his recognisable face.

“Rufus – what are you doing calling in the middle of the night?” She huffed impatiently. Rufus Scrimgeour was the Head Auror, and a good one at that – if a little stuck in his ways. The flames shifted as he frowned, his jaw twitching.

“It’s Greyback – we have a confirmed location; he’s in Birmingham, holed up in an abandoned factory and warehouse.”

Her eyes widened considerably as she sank into the chair nearest the fire and folded her legs. “How did we find him?”

“One of the Birmingham pack came forward, looking for asylum from him – apparently he’s been encroaching on territory. Killed their Alpha a few days ago.” Rufus frowned, glancing behind him at something or other. “We’re planning to hit him tonight.”

“So soon?” Amelia frowned, sitting on the edge of the seat. “That’s not enough time.”

“We don’t _have_ time, Amelia – we’ve been after the bastard since the War. You know as well as I do that this is the best shot we’ve ever had at him.”

“So, what are you doing calling me? I don’t get involved with the raids like I used to.”

“Not since you became a _Black_ , you mean.” Rufus huffed.

“Careful, Rufus.” Amelia said, warningly.

Rufus scoffed and rolled his eyes before looking at her pointedly. “Normally, I wouldn’t bother you, but I want to overwhelm him – I need you to authorise three Platoons.”

“ _Three_?” She blinked, her mouth falling open in shock. “ _Gods_ , if I do that, I’ll have to take command of the operation – this has been your operation for _years_!”

“I don’t care about recognition, just as long as we get the sick son-of-a-bitch.” Scrimgeour growled, a hand briefly appearing in the flames as he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair. “I just want him got – can I mobilise the Aurors?”

“Which Platoons?” She sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

“Forty-first Birch, hundred-eighty-first Alder, and the ninety-first willow. All three squads from each.”

Amelia pursed her lips as she went over the Platoons in her head – they were strong men and women; and each Platoon had an outstanding track record since the days of the War with Grindelwald, and later Voldemort.

“I’ll activate the three-hundred-and-twenty-seventh Gold too – they’ll protect the command staff.” She said with a nod and got to her feet.

“The three-two-seven? Don’t you think they’re a little overboard, considering the other three?” Scrimgeour frowned.

“Not at all – this is the most wanted man in the country. I’ll not take any chances he could get away.” She said, crisply. “Now, if that’s all, I’m going to get dressed, and I’ll meet you and the teams at the office – brief them before I arrive.”

Rufus nodded and disappeared without a further word – in truth, she couldn’t blame the man for leaping at the first opportunity in years to bring Fenrir Greyback in. She could still remember the scuttlebutt within the department about how Greyback had torn so many families apart during the last year – that he had the sheer _balls_ to have remained in the country for all these years spoke volumes about the man.

They had tracked him up and down the country for over a decade – he’d been wanted _before_ the War, but he had reached the coveted _Most Wanted_ position in the waning days of Voldemort’s reign of terror. How many orphans were out there, tonight, because of Fenrir Greyback? How many infected with Lycanthropy were treated as little more than _beasts_ because he took perverse pleasure in infecting _children_?

She took a steadying breath as she imagined Susan or Harry with a bite mark, or with their bellies slashed open and throats ripped out because of that _monster_. She personally had no issue with Werewolves – she loved Remus quite dearly; he was intelligent, and he was Sirius’s most treasured friend, and she knew the man adored Harry. Most importantly, he was _responsible_.

There were others – many actually within the Ministry itself – that abhorred Werewolves; Amos Diggory and Dolores Umbridge were the two names that sprang to mind – who would see wonderfully intelligent men and women, like Remus, put down for having the curse forced upon them.

As she swept from the study, and hurried to the stairs, she could also admit that often, the fear of the infected wizards and witches wasn’t always entirely unfounded. There were those that revelled in what they considered to be gifts – they felt powerful infecting others; how many times had she been called out after the war to deal with one or two rogue Werewolves and Vampires?

A scowl formed on her face as she reached the top step – if one thing was for certain; Greyback had to be put down, one way or another. The man had _more_ than earned the death penalty over the years.

The door to their bedroom creaked open, and the scowl that had just moments before been on her face washed away at the sight of him. It was still strange to think of herself as married – especially to the sleepy-eyed man that was leaning against the doorframe in little more than loose pyjama bottoms. Her eyes raked his body head-to-toe with impish delight.

“What’s got you up and about at this time?” He whispered, though his eyes were still heavy with sleep.

“I have to go into work.” She whispered back, slipping into the room as she allowed her hand to slide over Sirius’s stomach as she passed. “They’ve found Greyback.”

Sirius was awake instantly, and she caught him stiffening just before he closed the door behind him. “You can’t be serious – you’re going in for _him_? Where is he?”

“Birmingham – holed up in a factory somewhere, according to Scrimgeour.” She answered, shrugging the dressing gown off as she padded over to the wardrobe. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sirius summon his wand to his hand and give it a quick flick as the lights came to life. She smiled at him, gratefully.

Her wardrobe was nicely organised – work clothes to the left, Lady Black attire to the right, and in the middle were a few guilty pleasures that she enjoyed wearing around the house. She was a Pureblood, and had been raised as such, despite the House of Bones being a more conservative family, but that hadn’t stopped her from shopping in the occasional Muggle store over the years.

She picked out a sensible outfit – comfortable trousers, and a breathable shirt that she knew gave her full range of movement. she pulled out a pair of thick combat boots that came up to her mid-calf, rather than the office heels she often wore in her day-to-day.

Still feeling her husband’s eyes on her, and privately revelling in it, she quickly set about changing – making sure to hastily grab the necessary underwear from her nearby drawers. “That’s closer than I’m comfortable with.” He said, quietly as she hooked her bra into place. She glanced over her shoulder at him and offered a sympathetic smile.

“Well, there’s no way he can get into Blackwall.”

“No – Arcturus and I made an exception for Mooney. Is it wrong of me that I don’t want you to go?” Sirius sighed, running a tired hand down his face – it was with a sad, dawning realisation that Amelia realised he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep either. “Do you want me to come with you?”

She shook her head as she pulled her trousers up, shimmying them over her hips and quickly fastening the clasp at the front – they were slim and hugged the shape of her legs, but still offered her the ease of movement that she’d need. “No – I couldn’t bring you, even if I wanted to.” She turned and briefly cupped her husband’s cheek, tracing her thumb back and forth under his eye. “This is part of my job.”

“You could always retire.” He huffed, and it was just enough of a childish pout to make her grin and stand on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips – his moustache tickled her nose.

“I’d go mad within a week – and you’d be worn out within a few days.” She grinned as she pulled away slowly before shrugging on her shirt. And fastening it with quick, nimble fingers.

“Promises, promises.” He grinned cheekily. They both knew what she was doing – it was her way of reassuring him. Sirius was far more protective of those around him than he had been back when they first knew one another. Back then, they had been young, reckless, and brave. Everywhere you went, you had no idea who was your friend, and who would just as quickly curse you in the back.

Peter had taught them that lesson the hard way.

With Sirius having been released immediately following his trial, and the demands of having become a parent, it had been no surprise that Sirius hadn’t returned to Auror work – most of his world had been utterly decimated in the waning days of the Blood War. Hers hadn’t been much better.

In truth, following the wedding, she’d thought about stepping down from her position at the Ministry for a number of reasons – what if she was injured or killed? Could she do that to Sirius? To Susan? To _Harry_?

Strangely, whenever she’d brought it up over the past year, it had been _Sirius_ encouraging her to remain – to continue doing what she loved and excelled at. He could still remember how she had been curled up in his lap in November, his hands cupping her jaw as he told her just how _proud_ he was of her.

Her stomach fluttered pleasantly as she blinked and smiled at her husband – perhaps one day she’d retire and throw herself fully into the role of Lady Black; for tonight, she would be Amelia Black, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Sirius knelt before her, and guided her feet into her boots, making sure each was fastened securely before slowly rising as his hands trailed their way up her body. He cupped each side of her face as the tips of his fingers threaded through her loose hair. “You make sure you come back tonight; you hear me? You stay safe – and don’t take any risks.”

She nodded and pressed a quick kiss to his lips – she tried to fill it with as much love, care, and passion as she could. She pulled back and quickly pressed another to the tip of his nose, and another to each of those cheekbones that had made teenage Amelia go gooey. “I promise. Now, do be a wonderful husband and fetch my Auror Cloak, would you?” She grinned, patting his arse as he rolled his eyes and plodded to the far side of the room.

With a few quick twists, her hair was tied up and fixed in place with a tie, and a moment later, she was strapping her wand holster to her arm, over the sleeve of her shirt. Once comfortable and secure, she summoned her wand and slid it inside just as Sirius returned with her cloak held open for her to slip into.

The crimson colour had always, in her quiet and modest opinion, been a little garish. Though, she would have to admit, it made it incredibly easy to spot in a crowd – though even that came with its own issues in certain investigations. She threaded her arms through the sleeves and patted it down to remove what few wrinkles were visible before taking a deep breath and turning in her husband’s arms. “You behave yourself while I’m gone – make sure the others don’t worry. I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay?”

“I know.” Sirius harrumphed. “You promised.” He added with a raised eyebrow, and Amelia had to momentarily bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.

“And don’t give Remus any trouble in the morning.” She added with a stern wag of her finger. “No pranking.”

Sirius huffed once again. “Just a little one?”

“No – you’re not going back to sleep tonight, and you always get carried away when you’ve not slept well, so no pranking until I’ve had a chance to get back and show you how much I’ve missed you.”

“Keep talking like that, and you’ll be on Maternity Leave next week.” Sirius muttered, chuckling as she slapped his shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Just… be careful. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She whispered, pressing another short kiss to her husband’s lips. “Now, I have to get going or I’ll be late.” She said, a little louder as she stepped from the warm arms of Sirius Black. “Remember what I said.”

“I solemnly swear.” Sirius sighed with a roll of his eyes and a small, private grin as she backed towards the door. “Go on already.” He added with a shooing motion as she backed out the door.

She pulled it closed, but just before it clicked shut, on an impulse, she stuck her head through the gap and quickly whispered, “I love you!” Before darting out and hurrying down the stairs as quickly and as quietly as she could.

In truth, she was far more nervous about this operation than any other on her record – there hadn’t been enough time for her to be comfortable in moving forward with it, and there would be far too many unknowns. If it were up to her, there would be a week of scouting the location out, and just as much observation on the target – but, if they did that, there was every chance they would lose him.

As much as she wanted to preach patience, and to stop and _think_ before they all rushed in, Rufus was right to be anxious to get the go-ahead sooner rather than later. She stepped into the study, just as Milpy and Lispy popped into the room, both Elves wringing their hands and idly tugging on their ears. “Lady Black bes staying safe?” Lispy asked, hopping from one foot to the other.

“I’ll be as careful as I can be.” She smiled down at the two. The Elves looked at one another, gave a small nod and popped away. Amelia, now all alone in the room, drew herself up, squared her shoulders and grasped a small handful of Floo Powder from the container on the mantle before throwing it into the flames. “Ministry of Magic!” She called confidently, her jaw twitching as the flames roared.

With one last steadying breath, Amelia stepped into the flames, and left Blackwall, surrendering herself to the sickening spinning motions of the Floo Network, before stepping into the Atrium of her workplace. It was quiet, though well lit, at this time of night with only the nightshift workers milling about and hurrying from place to place.

The heels of her boots gave quiet thumps on the marble tiles as she stepped out of the large hearth of the public Floo – the floating orbs of light that interspersed the large, vaulted Atrium glinted against the dark tiles, and not for the first time, she found the back of her eyes aching from the harshness of it; or, perhaps, it was simply the lack of sleep.

She swept past the large fountain in the middle, and quickly hurried into one of the gilded elevators. With a quick double jab of her fingers, the doors slammed shut, and the elevator was whisked away to the appropriate floor within the bowels of the Ministry.

It was a floor only accessible by Aurors – specifically those qualified for field work; there were a number of large briefing rooms, armouries, and half a dozen other rooms that were used as required. Once the elevator came to a halt, she stepped into the corridor and took in the grim-faced Nymphadora waiting for her.

“Ma’am.” Tonks nodded, snapping to attention, which only eased at Amelia’s curt nod. The two fell into step as Amelia continued toward the briefing room that she knew Rufus would be using – there was only one large enough to host three platoons. “Scrimgeour has everyone briefed, and we’re all ready to leave on your command.”

“Good.” She hummed to herself, glancing at the pink haired Metamorphmagus. Dora had graduated from the academy with record-breaking marks, and the full endorsement of Alastor Moody – who they often invited to test graduates every now and then, despite his retirement.

Amelia had quickly snatched the young woman for herself; it was common knowledge that those at the top of the classes got poached by Senior Aurors each year. Amelia’s last one had been a bit of a disappointment; a Flint boy named Marshall – powerful and smart, but lazy post-graduation, content to rely more on his family name than put the work in.

Dora had surprised her. While she was clumsy, and had a playful, mischievous way about her, there was also a serious side to the young woman – even now, as they approached the briefing room, there was that familiar glint in Dora’s eye that spoke so much of the woman she could become, if only nudged in the right direction.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that she’d been assigned to the three-two-seventh; the platoon most historically associated with the most successful men and women from the department – she herself had even served in it, as part of A-Squad, under the command of Alastor Moody.

A pang of fond nostalgia resonated within her chest as she watched Tonks open the door for her; the noise in the room cut out immediately at her arrival. Rufus stood at the front of the amphitheatre room, behind a hovering magical representation of their target building.

She nodded absently at Dora and stepped up to her Head Auror – his red hair had darkened with age, and it hung down to his shoulders on either side of his face; his eyes narrowed as she approached, and his jaw was tense. Despite what she personally thought of the man, he was an _excellent_ Auror, even if he did have a piss-poor attitude most of the time.

“Black.”

“Scrimgeour – I take it, this is it, then?” She asked, gesturing to the orange, semi-transparent mist before her. “Points of entry?”

“Roof, main door, and the loading bay – the forty-first has volunteered to take the roof.” Rufus said, folding his arms across his chest and nodding in the direction of the platoon in question. The red-robed Aurors stood and snapped to attention as one, the white and grey trimmings of their robes and armour marking them proudly. Christopher Proudfoot could not look any prouder of the seventeen men and women under his command.

“Ma’am!” He nodded, relaxing his salute as Amelia nodded at them to relax; her own arms folding tightly across her chest. “We’ll get the job done.”

“Who’s on the main door?” She asked, once the forty-first all retook their seats.

“That would be us, ma’am.” John Dawlish said, standing quickly and keeping his posture rigid. “The ninety-first will handle the heavy lifting.”

Despite the situation, Amelia couldn’t help the little up-tick of the corners of her mouth – Dawlish was an experienced and competent leader, and the ninety-first _specialised_ in these kinds of situations; each member of the three squads were heavy-hitters, powerful men and women that would be able to handle anything that came their way.

“And that leaves the hundred-eighty-first for the loading bay.” Amelia nodded slowly, inclining her head as Anthony Williamson got to his feet.

“Ma’am.” He nodded; the faintest trace of his Dublin accent still prevalent in his voice. He sat back down quickly – his team were perfect for infiltrations into Muggle areas, and the sage highlights on their robes and armour were worn proudly.

“And the command staff? I assume we’ll be up here?” She asked, tapping the roof of the building across the street – the magic swirled around her finger briefly like smoke. “I want squad A from the three-two-seven with us, while the other two provide aerial support by broom around the target building with spotlights trained on it at all times.”

The three-two-seventh, which fell under the command of Kingsley Shacklebolt all stood as one, snapping off a crisp salute – there were familiar faces all throughout the Platoon; after all, she’d served with many of them herself. There were times she missed the gold band on her Auror robes and armour.

Rufus nodded and made a flicking motion with his wrist, and the image shifted slightly, morphing into a representation of Fenrir Greyback himself. “A reminder – _this_ is the man we’re after. It’s not a full moon, so none of us have to worry about bites or scratches, but if it comes down to you and him, _don’t_ hesitate. Silver secondary weapons are mandatory.”

Amelia had to resist the urge to shiver at the snarling face of Fenrir – she’d had the unfortunate experience of having fought him once before, in the waning days of the Blood War; he had been ferocious and had quickly overwhelmed her. She’d barely survived the encounter.

“Everyone, grab your remaining gear, and be ready for Squad Portkeys in ten.” Rufus called with a clap. Everyone shuffled from the room quickly, including Amelia, who hurried to her own locker within the armoury with everyone else – thankfully, Dora was on hand to help her strap her dragonhide armour on; just a little protection for her torso beneath the cloak she wore.

Out of habit, she double-checked her wand holster, and palmed a hand radio so she’d be able to keep in contact with the teams – out of the corner of her eye, she caught Rufus handling the crates of Scrying Bowls, all no doubt prepared for the coming operation.

She also made sure to strap a silver combat knife, tucked securely into a simple, black leather holster onto her right hip, angled for quick access to either hand, should she need it.

With everything secure, she turned to check over Dora – Sirius would _kill_ her if anything happened to his favourite little cousin, not to mention the warpath Andromeda would be on if she got so much as a scratch. Tonks nodded confidently before whipping her head around the now considerably less busy locker-room; seemingly satisfied, the younger woman grinned at her cheekily and offered a playful wink. “Sirius is going to have puppies over this, you know.”

“Don’t you mean kittens?” Amelia replied, quietly, arching a brow as they made their way to the door.

Tonks gave a quiet snort as she opened the door for the two of them. “Nah.” She grinned, stepping out into the corridor toward the Portkey room.

The two were the last to arrive; Tonks broke off to stand with her squad, sandwiched between Kingsley and Honour, the two most senior members of the squad. Amelia stepped up to Rufus and grabbed hold of the rope as she looked over her Aurors. “Be smart, be careful, and let’s all get this son-of-a-bitch.”

There was a resounding stomp as everyone snapped to attention at her words before the Portkeys activated – there was the brief sensation of spinning wildly, like water going down a drain, before she landed on sure feet on the roof of the building across from Greyback’s hideout.

Immediately, everyone around her set to work – B and C squad took off on their brooms, circling high above, though none activated their spotlights just yet; no need to give the game up just yet. Rufus, and A squad set about setting up the Scrying Bowls on portable tables, while Amelia focused on paying close attention to what was being murmured on the radio.

Only the three-two-seventh had Portkeyed to the roof of the building, while the other squads had arrived at their own staging points – there was no point in wasting time getting into position with a man who had the heightened senses of a Werewolf.

“All teams, check in.” She murmured into the handheld device – even up here, she was quiet, terrified of the possibility that Fenrir could somehow hear her. Even her _breathing_ was too loud to her own ears. In the distance, the noise of Birmingham, and the nearby a-thirty-eight provided a low humming of life to the otherwise eerie stillness of the industrial estate.

“ _Ninety-first, squads A through C, standing by._ ” Dawlish announced, his own voice low and slightly distorted through the radio.

“ _Forty-first, ready to drop._ ” Proudfoot answered, and in the faint light of what few streetlights there were, she could see the Aurors on the roof across from her.

“ _Hundred-eighty-first, in position, all squads green._ ” Williamson said tightly.

Amelia glanced at Rufus and A squad of the three-two-seventh and nodded at the quickly arranged bowls and table – the bowls were arranged by squad, and each had a faint cyan glow to the clear, still liquid. It was standard practice for an operation like this one. Each Auror would offer a single drop of blood to a bowl, which would track their life-signs – the moment a bowl turned red, meant that the Auror it was tied to was dead.

It was a useful tool for command staff, but to Amelia, it felt disconcertingly detached.

 _Merlin_ , how many had Sirius offered a drop to during the War? How often had he come close to having his Scrying Bowl fill with the colour of his blood? She shook herself violently, ridding herself of those thoughts and refocused her attention on the task at hand. Her jaw clenched as she glanced at Rufus.

He answered her silent question with a single, resolute nod.

“All platoons: Wands Free – you are clear to engage.” She said, briefly shielding her eyes at the bright white spotlights that sprang to life from the wands of those in the air – the twelve on brooms flew in a loose holding pattern above the building across from them, their wands trained on the ground beneath them – there would be nowhere to run.

“ _Breach, breach!_ ” She heard from Proudfoot across the radio, echoed from both Dawlish and Williamson as the men and women under her command burst into the building noisily.

She could remember her own days of completing similar actions, of stacking up on doors, and sweeping her wand through rooms, ready to unleash spells at a moment’s notice. All around her, she could hear the quiet crunching of gravel as the squad assigned to her and Scrimgeour’s protection quietly patrolled the rooftop.

The antenna of the radio tapped against her chin absently as she stared at the building across from her – it was nothing impressive to speak of; made of orange brick that had long ago been covered in lichen and graffiti, with a surprising number of windows along the upper floors.

Through those windows, she could see faint flashes of light as her teams worked through the building, room by room – it was early, but she couldn’t help the feeling in her stomach that something was _wrong_ ; shouldn’t Greyback have made himself known by now?

“How solid was the intel, Rufus?” She asked, without taking her eyes off of the building in front of her.

“Veritaserum confirmed it – why?” He grunted, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “You think he might not be here?”

“I don’t know what I think, but it feels too good to be true.” She muttered, tapping the aerial against her bottom lip as she folded her arms across her chest.

“ _Check left, check left._ ” She heard Dawlish mutter to his team through the radio.

“ _Room clear._ ” Someone else said.

“ _Stack up – breach in three, two, one!_ ” There was the sound of a door being thrown open and the sound of hurried footsteps, but nothing more yet. “ _Watch for crossfire with friendlies._ ”

“ _I don’t see anythin’, boss._ ” Someone muttered, quietly.

“This doesn’t feel right.” Rufus muttered at her side; his own radio pressed tightly to his jaw as the two of them listened to the feed anxiously. “Perhaps we should pull them out.”

“No – it’s too late for that now.” She sighed, drumming her fingers against her arm. “They have their job to do.”

“ _Look, over there – sir, I’ve got fresh blood!_ ”

“ _How fresh?_ ”

“ _It’s still warm._ ”

“Do you think he might have killed tonight?” Amelia found herself asking, quietly – her eyes burned from the gentle wind as she continued to stare, unblinkingly, at the building across from them.

“It’s more than likely – he has a taste for Muggles. Could be a worker from the area.”

“ _Contact, contact!_ ” The scream went out, and all of a sudden, spellfire was all she could hear and see from the interior of the building – men and women shouted, yelled, and screamed through the radio as Amelia felt the colour drain from her face.

“ _He’s fuckin’ everywhere!_ ”

“ _Take cover!_ ” Dawlish yelled, followed by a thunderous boom that had the rooftop trembling. Amelia ripped her eyes from the building and glanced at the Scrying Bowls – slowly, steadily, they were changing colour. Around her, she could hear the members of the three-two-seventh shift anxiously as they patrolled.

“ _He got Perkins! I need a medic!_ ”

“ _Watch your fire, watch your fire!_ ”

“ _I have Greyback confirmed on level two!_ ”

“ _Negative, ground floor, groun-hck!_ ”

Another bowl went red.

“ _Dawlish is down – fuck, where’d he go?_ ”

Amelia glanced at Dawlish’s bowl – thankfully, it wasn’t red; just injured then. She breathed a little easier.

“We’re taking too many casualties.” Rufus muttered, absently chewing on one of his short nails – it was a habit she’d witnessed him do whenever he was agitated. She could even remember him doing it when he was her superior. “We need to pull them out.”

“Agreed – all units pull back.”

“ _Negative, ma’am, he’s got us pinned and we have wounded!_ ” Proudfoot yelled into the radio. “ _We need assistance!_ ”

“No.” Rufus said immediately, grabbing her shoulder. “I know that look – you are _not_ going in there!” His dark blue eyes were stormy in the faint light of the nightlights around the estate. She shrugged herself out of his grip.

“I don’t believe it’s up to you to decide what I do or don’t do, Rufus.” She snapped, hooking the radio onto her belt. “You’ll continue to direct things up here – pull back three of the ones in the air as a guard; I’ll lead A squad myself. I’m _not_ leaving men and women in there to Greyback.”

“ _Amelia_! You’re the _Director_ of the department – if he kills you…”

“He won’t.” She scowled, checking her holster for the hundredth time. She felt the men and women of A squad form up around her, and a profound sense of pride filled her belly. The three-two-seventh stood by its own.

“We’ll look after her, sir.” Tonks said, her voice strong, despite the recognisable fear that shimmered in her eyes. It was in moments like this that Amelia was reminded of just how _young_ Nymphadora was.

“Aye – we’ll look after her.” Honour agreed with a firm nod of her head. Amelia inclined her head appreciatively at the two women, but otherwise said nothing.

“Amelia…” Rufus tried again, though this time it was far gentler – the radio had gone suspiciously quiet, and when she glanced over, there was only a handful of clear bowls remaining.

“It isn’t up for discussion, Rufus.” She snapped before glancing at the six men and women assembled around her. All stood tall, their shoulders squared, and jaws set. “We’ll follow Dawlish’s platoon and go room to room. I want illumination charms at all times in a twelve-foot perimeter – no premature spells; I don’t want to risk more casualties because you saw a shadow move. Understood?”

“Ma’am!” The squad echoed.

With a resounding crack, she disappeared from the rooftop, only to reappear on the tarmac in front of the building – it looked so much more imposing from down here. She could see where the windows had been blown out on the upper floors by stray spells, and the bricks soaked up all the nearby light; not even the steadily patrolling spotlights helped.

All around her, her squad formed up – Shacklebolt, and a younger witch whose name Amelia briefly recalled being _something_ Savage took point; their wands already held at the ready, while the other four surrounded her on all sides silently. Tonks took up position on her right, with Honour taking up one of the two spots at their rear.

“Let’s move – I want this done quickly and as quietly as possible.” She muttered, levelling her own wand over Kingsley’s shoulder.

The squad moved as one, each step measured and in perfect sync with the others. The doors were already open from Dawlish’s entry, and the second they stepped through the threshold, small orbs of light darted out of the wands of those all around her; Amelia made sure to contribute her own, and suddenly, the entrance foyer, covered in litter, dirt, and graffiti was visible.

There was a single, rounded desk at the far side, and a handful of simple, rotten chairs that lined either side of the room – a waiting area, no doubt. A single door led further into the building, hanging halfway off of its hinges.

“Move in.” She murmured, her pulse racing as the adrenaline began to flood her system – her magic thrummed beneath her skin, and she felt her senses sharpen. The musty smell of the abandoned factory assaulted her nose and she crinkled it in disgust for a moment.

Kingsley led the way steadily, his wand sweeping back and forth for threats as they moved out of the waiting room; the little orbs of light flew ahead of them steadily – there were two rooms along the corridor, the first on the left, and the second on the right just beyond the furthest orb.

“Stack up.” Kingsley said, getting into the ready position to lead the breach. Savage was behind him, her hand firmly on Kingsley’s shoulder, and Amelia quickly placed her own on the woman ahead of her. “Breach!”

They rushed the room, Kingsley immediately broke left, a ball of light proceeding him, while Savage went right, covering his back – Amelia went straight ahead, her wand sweeping the ransacked meeting room and finding nothing more than a litter-covered table, more rotten chairs thrown about the room, and long-dead plants in the corners. “Clear!” Came the resounding call from the rest of the squad.

The squad reformed in the corridor, repeating the same action as they continued and checked the room further down, and to the right – this turned out to be nothing more than a bathroom; the stench of sewage nearly making her gag; only her years of experience with _far_ more disgusting smells kept that from happening.

Time lost its meaning as they went from room to room; it could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. All the while, her heart pounded in her chest, and her wand remained clenched in a white-knuckled grip – she’d half expected to hear it snap.

Unable to stop herself, she swallowed nervously as they stepped into the factory proper. It was high and vaulted, reaching all the way up to the roof, where, thanks to the twinkling stars in the sky, she could just make out the skylights that the forty-first had dropped in through. She pulled the radio from her belt and held it to her mouth; her eyes sweeping back and forth along the perimeter provided by the hovering balls of light.

“We’re in the factory itself – no signs of anyone yet.” She said into her radio’s mic, absently chewing her bottom lip until Rufus’s reassuring voice answered.

“ _Understood – be careful._ ”

She nodded to the squad and quickly hooked the radio back onto her belt, though she made sure not to look down – the more eyes trained on their surroundings, the better. “Let’s sweep the factory before we check the upper floors and walkways.”

“Copy.” Shacklebolt nodded before stepping forward. The room, while large, and ringed by high walkways, was _full_ of heavy, and complicated-looking machinery and long, filthy looking belts that had various detritus strewn across them haphazardly. After three paces, the first real evidence of the skirmish that had occurred came into view – a large chunk of one of the machines had been blasted to pieces, warped and twisted dark metal shrapnel was everywhere, still trailing faint wisps of black smoke.

The tell-tale smell of burned ozone wafted across her upper-lip as they steadily moved onward – it was silent as a tomb within the large room, with only the faint rustling of the breeze that had crept in through the blown-out windows shifting the lightest of the detritus on the floor.

Beneath her boots, thin sheets of clear plastic, crumpled newspaper pages, and plastic bags crunched noisily – there was no way to avoid it all; the floor was _covered_.

A moment later, the first signs of the Aurors became visible, just on the periphery of the orbs of light. A pair of legs was visible in the faint, silver-white haze, and the team made to move closer – there was no way to identify the Auror from their feet and legs alone.

Two steps further, and they all came to a sharp halt, and Savage gagged and looked away; her skin, which Amelia had noted in the locker room had been coloured with a healthy tan, looked paler than a corpse.

There, lying in the middle of the path, was a pair of legs missing its torso; blood pooled around the shredded, blood-spattered, and mangled flesh that hung as limply as the torn cloth. She rested a calming hand on Savage’s shoulder, even as the woman bent double and dry-heaved. Amelia’s eyes swept the darkness around them.

“See if we can’t spot the rest of them.” Amelia grunted, trying not to let the sudden, overpowering stench of blood get to her.

“You going to be alright, Janet?” Honour asked, quietly. Savage – _Janet_ – nodded silently and ran the back of her right arm across her mouth. Amelia pressed her lips together tightly.

They moved further in and came across three more similar corpses; all ripped in half with their upper-bodies missing, and various innards strewn around them – all bore the markings of Dawlish’s platoon; a maroon highlight on their crimson armour.

“Poor bastards.” Kingsley muttered under his breath. The aisle became increasingly more constricting the further in they moved, and Amelia couldn’t help but give Fenrir credit – he’d chosen this place well.

“Contact!” Honour called, snapping her wand up as Amelia spun around; her magic coiled tightly. “I saw movement, up on the walkway, four o’clock.”

“Anyone seen any stairs yet?” Tonks asked, glancing around, though her wand was still trained in the direction Honour had called out.

“Not one – I figure we’re heading in their direction now.” Kingsley muttered from behind her, and Amelia felt her jaw clench. Everything about this felt wrong.

She reached for the radio on her belt and pressed the rubber button on the side as she brought it to her mouth. “How many Bowls are still clear?”

“ _Five_.” Rufus answered her after a pause. “ _Dawlish, Proudfoot, Williamson, and Smith. I assume they’re holed up together without radios – at least, I hope they are._ ”

“Any movement outside?”

“ _Negative – reports of movement through the windows once or twice, but nothing substantial yet._ ”

“Understood – we’ve got K.I.A in here; torn apart. Only found the lower-halves so far.”

“ _Spell or hand?_ ”

“I’d say by hand. We’ll get the others and retreat – we’ll organise a recovery team for the bodies when we get back to the Ministry.”

“ _Understood_.”

“Chances they’re on the upper floors? I spotted some offices when we came in.” Honour said, her voice tight and tense.

“Most likely – that’s where I’d be.” Janet nodded, slowly. There was a startled gasp as bricks from the ceiling clattered to the floor to their right, bouncing off of the machinery and creating an echoing racket – Tonks gave a quiet yelp at the sudden noise.

“That’s where we’ll go, then.” Amelia nodded once the noise subsided, glancing at the young woman at her side, whose chest was heaving from the scare. “You alright, Tonks?”

“Yes ma’am, I just _hate_ jump-scares is all.” The pink-haired witch nodded, offering a weak smile.

Amelia nodded before turning around and tapping Kingsley’s shoulder with a silent order to continue on. The further in they got, the more that same uneasy feeling continued to churn in the depths of her stomach – what she wouldn’t have done, to have been curled up in bed instead of traipsing through an abandoned factory, coming across the remains of her Aurors she had ordered to their deaths.

But that was the job – they all knew, even she knew, that any operation, any day could be their last; there was a very real reason why only a handful of each generation of Aurors made it to retirement, and even fewer made it there in one piece. Alastor Moody was a prime example.

In the silence of her mind, with every fresh spray of blood that dripped quietly from the machines around her, and with every mutilated corpse they came across, she couldn’t help but wonder if, despite her promise to Sirius, tonight might be _her_ last night.

No – she refused to think like that. Fenrir Greyback was a dangerous, and _terrifying_ individual, but she was _Amelia Black_ , the head of the D.M.L.E, and the protégé of Alastor Moody himself – she wouldn’t be taken down by the likes of _him_ , and she _certainly_ wouldn’t give into fear.

They made it to the far side of the room, and she couldn’t help but wince at the grouping of corpses by the bottom of the stairs – unlike the others they had come across, these were all in one piece, except, of course, for the gaping wounds across their bodies.

There were six of them – an entire squad, then; and all adorned with the colours of the hundred-eighty-first. Throats had been torn out, and bellies slashed open – she hoped it had at least been quick, though, knowing it was Fenrir, she feared even that small slither of hope was too much to ask for.

“They didn’t know what hit them.” Janet Savage murmured, appalled. “Not one managed to get their knives out.”

“Dropped into the middle of them, no doubt.” Kingsley nodded, and from her position behind and to the right of him, she could see the muscles in his jaw clenching under his dark skin. “ _Bastard_.”

“Let’s move them off to the side – respectful as we can, but let’s not linger.” Amelia grunted, casting a silent _Wingardium Leviosa_ on a pair of bodies, while Janet and Kingsley took the remaining ones. The wet, slapping sounds as innards spilled onto the floor at the movement was sickening, but Amelia pushed past it and focused on the task at hand. The bodies were left six feet away from the bottom of the stairs, though a thick trail of blood and other bodily fluids marked the small journey they’d taken.

“Watch the stairs.” Honour muttered, just as Amelia glanced at her – the woman’s eyes were trained on the darkness just beyond their light charms. Above, one of the three-two-seventh on broomsticks passed by overhead, their spotlight passing through one of the open skylights in the roof.

The light swept over them, and Amelia had to wince and shield her eyes before the light moved on. She glanced back at Kingsley and gave him a firm tap on the shoulder, signalling for him to advance once again. He went forward slowly, his wand trained on the spiralling curve of the cast-iron staircase, and his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the abandoned factory.

Janet was next, her footsteps lighter than the large, six-foot man ahead of her. As Amelia watched the two of them, he seemed a giant next to her petite frame. Savage gestured with a hand, and Amelia followed, with Tonks a step behind her.

Her first footstep up the stairs echoed with a dull thud, and the light splash of the thin layer of blood that coated its surface – she grimaced at the sound. Around them, the balls of light rose with the squad; the steady footfalls of all six members slowly making their way up, and up, around, and around.

By the time they reached the first floor, her thighs burned from the controlled movement – each muscle in her body was tense, like a coiled serpent ready to strike. Kingsley stepped onto the walkway carefully, his wand still up and at the ready as he swept the path ahead of them.

The walkway itself wasn’t wide, with enough space for two to walk abreast, but no more. The squad arranged itself into a staggered line and began moving forward. There were more signs of struggle along the walkway, and they came across two bodies belonging to both the forty-first, and the hundred-eighty-first.

The first had been slumped against the railing, a look of pained shock on her features as she held her innards in her arms; blood dripped slowly from her chin, and the tears that had marked her cheeks were dry.

The second body – a member of the forty-first – was slumped over the railing, arms hanging limply. He, for the body was obviously male, was missing one leg and, to Amelia’s mounting horror, his head. He was eased, gently and carefully off of the rail and onto the floor, the ragged tatters of torn skin spilling even more blood. Amelia’s eyes darted around the darkness of the factory once more as the rancid stench of the factory mixed with the acrid taste-smell of iron and copper and assaulted her nose.

She was thankful, at least, that the walkway ran along the brick wall – they could at least be confident that they would see Fenrir coming from whichever direction he would choose to attack. Honour was watching their rear, Kingsley leading them, while the rest of them focused on watching above and below the walkway.

They approached the offices slowly; warily. If Fenrir hadn’t attacked them yet, this was a perfect place to spring an ambush – Amelia tensed, waiting for the worst. “Just as before – room by room.” She murmured, receiving quite grunts of acknowledgement from all those around her.

She counted four doors in the short corridor, two on either side – small, cubicle-like rooms that no doubt served as offices for administrators and managers. Her jaw tensed once again as two orbs of light travelled the length of the corridor.

“Two at a time – Kingsley, you take Honour, and Wallace and do the first on the left, I’ll take Janet, Tonks, and Edwards and clear the right.”

The large man nodded, and the group quickly split to their assigned sides – Edwards, a stocky, blonde man with short, slicked-back hair took the point position, with Janet taking the second position, followed by herself, and finally, Tonks. She glanced at Kingsley across the short corridor and gave a single, sharp nod.

Edwards burst into the room, slamming open the door and immediately swerving to the right – Savage followed him in, hugging the thin plasterboard that made up the left wall, while she and Tonks trailed after them, offering short, clear barks of “Clear!”

They didn’t relax, however – instead, they simply filed out of the room and into the corridor where they saw Kingsley’s team doing the same. There was some smeared blood on the wall to her right, but she paid it no mind – all that mattered right now was clearing these last two rooms.

“I hear voices!” Kingsley hissed, edging toward the door on his side of the short corridor. “Three-two-seventh, Auror Shacklebolt – identify!” He called, his deep voice sharp with the same tension that she, herself, felt.

“Shacklebolt! It’s us! It’s Proudfoot – Dawlish and Williamson are injured, and Smith is out cold!”

“That’s Christopher; I recognise the voice.” Honour muttered, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

“I’ll join you for this one – clear the last room you three.” Amelia nodded, gesturing to the final room. “Proudfoot, it’s Black, we’re coming in – if you fire upon us, we _will_ respond with force; do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Proudfoot called back. She gave the nod to Kingsley as both teams stacked up – she would enter last.

Kingsley spun into the room, followed by Honour, and Wallace – all three barking “Clear!” in a sharp staccato. Amelia entered, just as the other three were hurrying over to the wounded in the back right corner.

Proudfoot had dragged and flipped the desk to offer some cover, which he knelt behind, his wand still trained on the door, with his wide eyes darting about their faces. He slumped back at the sight of her, and tears began trailing down his cheeks.

“It’s okay; we’re here now.” From behind her, she could hear the calls of the other team before they joined them. “What happened, Proudfoot?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” He muttered, shuffling out of the way as Honour and Wallace hurried to check over the others. Dawlish was on his back, a deep cut trailing across his stomach and chest from hip to shoulder – his chest rose and fell with pained, ragged breaths as his eyes stared into the distance, beyond the ceiling.

Smith was unconscious, propped up in the corner with his head lolled forward – there was a nasty cut on the back of his head, and his skin was paler than normal; Amelia breathed a little easier when Honour checked for a pulse on his neck and gave her a thumbs up.

Williamson was in the worst shape; sprawled on his front and a number of agonising-looking slashes on his back – some so deep, she could see the faint white of bone peeking out from beneath his robes.

“He came out of nowhere.” Proudfoot moaned, wincing as he grasped at his stomach. “He got me good on the walkway.”

“Relax, we’re going to get you out of here.” She said, kneeling and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. She pulled the radio from her belt and held it to her mouth. “Black, here – we’ve got the wounded.”

“ _Understood. What’s their condition?_ ” Rufus asked, breathlessly. No doubt he was relieved – Amelia couldn’t blame him; she’d been terrified that they might have been too late.

“Smith is out – Dawlish and Williamson have major injuries, and Proudfoot has a stomach wound.” She said, inching Proudfoot’s cloak and shredded armour aside to peek at the injury – a single slash; painful, but not deep.

“ _That’s good to hear – I’ll send one of the three-two-seventh to alert the Ministry Infirmary and Saint Mungo’s. I’ll get packed up here, too. Get out of there as soon as you can._ ”

“Will do.” She said, before standing and hooking the radio to her belt once again.

“Black – you’re going to want to see this!” Edwards called from the doorway where he’d moved to keep watch; now that they had the survivors, they could Apparate back to the rooftop and leave with Scrimgeour and the rest of the platoon.

“What is it?” She asked, stepping around the desk and over the chair that had been thrown to the ground. Edwards said nothing, instead, the blonde simply raised and pointed a finger at the far wall between the office doors; right where she’d noted the blood earlier.

Her breath caught in her throat as she took it in, and she staggered to the left, catching herself on the doorframe. Tonks was immediate behind her, her hands gripping her arms carefully before she too, gasped. There, written in thick, viscous swathes of blood were the words…

“The Little Wolf is next…” Tonks moaned, her hand darting to her mouth.

The words and the _threat_ they implied were chilling enough, but it was the lightning bolt “L” in ‘Wolf’ that struck at her very heart – her eyes swept the corridor once, twice, three times before taking a shuddering breath, a quiet moan ghosting its way past her lips. Behind her, Tonks squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“He did this to get to you.” Kingsley said, appearing behind her as she glanced over her shoulder. “Ma’am, we need to get out of here.”

She nodded and scrubbed at her cheeks furiously – the sooner they left the factory, the sooner she could tell Sirius, the sooner she could arrange a larger manhunt for the _beast_. Her jaw clenched and unclenched as she stepped back into the room, Dora’s voice echoing in her mind as she dropped to a knee next to Proudfoot.

Her eyes darted to those around her, all with mixed looks of worry and concern on their faces – for the injured, and for herself and Tonks; their relationship with Harry was quite public, after all – both of them had pictures of Harry on their desks. “We’ll follow you out, ma’am.” Savage nodded, slinging Dawlish’s arm around her shoulders – she looked like a child next to his sheer bulk.

Amelia nodded and licked her lips, nervously. A moment later, there was a resounding crack in the air, and the next thing she knew, she was on the rooftop, surrounded by the three-two-seven, and Rufus was kneeling before her, frowning, and sweeping his wand back and forth over the two of them.

All around them, the varying cracks, and muted thumps of the rest of the team split the night – everyone pitched in to help where they could, and before she could say anything, Proudfoot was taken off her hands by a burly-looking man with burn scars down the side of his face and neck, and scars littering the other side.

“You’re in a mild shock – what happened? Is he still in there?” Rufus asked, frowning.

“He left me a message.” She grunted, dusting her thighs down; the knees of her trousers were crusted with blood – Dawlish’s, or Williamson’s, she couldn’t tell; they’d both been bleeding enough from their wounds. “A _personal_ message.”

Rufus said nothing to that, a knowing glint forming in his eyes as he continued to stare at her for a few moments, his jaw working from side to side idly. “Alright, then. Let’s get back to the Ministry.”

* * *

The interior of Cornelius Fudge’s office was covered in large bookshelves, lined with books upon books about various laws and proceedings. There were titles that she had no hope of understanding, and frankly, no desire to read, even if they were the last things on the planet.

The far wall was all glass – quite thick and resistant to spell-damage; she would know, it had been her department that had suggested the upgrade to his security five years ago when he’d received death threats from some middling extremist group in Scotland.

Below, she could just make out the heads of those milling about in the Atrium around the hideous golden statue, and the various messenger memos that flew back and forth between the offices. She huffed out a quiet breath as she took in the man opposite her.

He was well past his prime, overweight, and with a balding head of grey hair. He wore a deep green, almost black, pinstripe suit, and a pale blue shirt, complete with a tie – it had always amused Amelia; for all that Cornelius Fudge was a supporter, politically, of the traditionalists; thanks in no small part, no doubt, to the generous donations of Lucius Malfoy, he had quite the taste for Muggle clothing.

Cornelius stared at her silently, his thin lips pressed tightly together, while his hazel eyes did their best to feel intimidating, reprimanding, even. It did little good other than to simply annoy her – it had been a long, disastrous day, and she had reports to file before she would be able to return to the comforting arms of her husband and family.

His finger tapped idly on the desk in the silence of the room, his nail giving it a sharp ring, and a part of Amelia wanted to chastise the man over his treatment of the fine, expensive-looking desk. To his left, sat just half a pace behind him, but still clearly in view, was the Minister’s Under-Secretary; Dolores Umbridge.

Now _there_ was a woman that made her lip curl.

Her skin was smooth and clear, though her features gave her a pinched look every time she adopted that sickening smile of hers. Her lips were painted in far too much lipstick, which matched the garish assortment of pink that she always dressed herself in – again, in the style of a Muggle suit.

There were rumours, of course, of the woman and the way she treated those beneath her, that had made it through the grapevine at the Ministry. People talked – the Aurors more than anyone. There was nothing like a bit of gossiping around the kitchenette while making oneself a fortifying cup of tea or coffee, and there was no juicier gossip than the goings on in the Ministry itself.

Dolores Umbridge had the reputation of a pure-blooded bigot; quick to fire anyone transferred to her departmental oversight who didn’t have at least four generations of _respectable_ ancestors; and she simpered to the likes of Kullens, Trinner, and Malfoy – staunch advocates of the Pureblood Agenda within the Wizengamot.

There were worse rumours about the woman, of course, but even _they_ seemed too far-fetched at times.

To her left, sat Rufus Scrimgeour, his face stony, and his expression unreadable – his elbows were on the padded arms of his chair, and his fingers interlocked over his stomach; his legs were crossed, and his right foot was absently bobbing.

“I trust,” Cornelius began, slowly, the jowls of his neck bobbing with the slow, deliberate movement of his jaw. “That you understand the need for this meeting before the others join us.”

“Yes, Minister.” Amelia answered, inclining her head, and threading her fingers together in her lap casually. “We have no excuse for the events of last night.”

“I should think not, Amelia – after all, fifty men and women are dead thanks to your blunder.” Dolores tutted; her voice shrill and grating, despite the low volume. It was a miracle that Amelia managed to keep the snarl off of her face as she looked at the Under-Secretary.

She didn’t need reminding of the men and women that had lost their lives. She had been right there with the drafted platoons that had gone to recover the bodies in the hours following their retreat. She had helped the Aurors comb the factory and the warehouse, and she had spent the rest of her day personally contacting the next of kin.

Amelia was _well_ aware of how many had been killed.

“It was under my request to go after Greyback, _Dolores_.” Rufus rebutted, levelling his gaze on the woman. “I was the one who requested those platoons be activated and deployed – we had credible evidence that Greyback was there; verified by Veritiserum no less. There’s a _reason_ he’s evaded capture for so long.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the threat and danger Greyback represents.” Cornelius huffed, leaning back in his chair as his gaze swept back and forth between the two of them. “Nevertheless, there was a _grievous_ loss of life in the early hours of this morning – something that hasn’t happened during this administration up until now.”

Amelia inclined her head – Cornelius’s last campaign had focused on the years of peace that he had presided over; to have the sudden deaths of three whole platoons on his record would make that continued message difficult to sell.

“Perhaps, Minister, it would be wise to inform the public just _who_ was responsible for this… _abhorrent_ loss of life?” Dolores offered, leaning forward from her perch on the edge of her chair. Amelia met the pair of challenging green-eyed gaze of the woman across from her, unflinchingly – she’d witnessed worse things in the last few hours alone.

“It has merit.” Fudge nodded absently as he stroked at his jaw before heaving a sigh. “Alas, as it stands, we must deal with the issue as a united front, or risk appearing weak and fractured to the public.”

“Minister.” Rufus said, evenly, as he bowed his head the slightest fraction.

“Understand this – the both of you,” Cornelius said, leaning forward; his chair squeaking, and Amelia caught sight of the satisfied smirk on Dolores’s face over the Minister’s shoulder. “I will _not_ abide another disaster like the one this morning.”

“Of course, Minister.” Amelia nodded, pressing her lips together tightly, even as her teeth threatened to grind against one another. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Cornelius grunted, waving a hand before rubbing at his forehead. “How we progress forward will depend entirely on the coming meeting – neither of you will jump the gun as you did last night.”

Amelia and Rufus both nodded, though neither of them said a word.

“Excellent – now, I think it’s high-time we get this meeting underway. Rufus, as the most junior here, would you mind letting the others know they can enter?” Cornelius muttered, reaching for a small folder on his desk and flipping it open.

Amelia glanced at Rufus, and offered him an apologetic look, even as he rolled his eyes and moved to the door. She turned in her seat as the door opened and offered polite nods to her entering colleagues.

There were four other departments involved in the manhunt for Fenrir Greyback, though the duty primarily fell to the D.M.L.E, as it was _her_ people that went out on the raids and were most often placed in harm’s-way; something she had been gruesomely reminded of.

Dirk Cresswell entered first, the recently appointed head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or, as everyone in the Ministry referred to it as; the D.R.C.M.C.

He was a wholly unremarkable-looking man; middle-aged, though he had maintained his figure, unlike Cornelius and a number of other higher-ranking members of the Ministry. He had a thick head of brown hair that had the messy look of someone who often ran their fingers through it. His skin was pale, and he favoured unassuming suit trousers with a shirt and cardigan combination. He smiled politely back at her and took the seat immediately to her right. He crossed his legs at the knee, pushing the pair of square-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose as he did so.

Next was Vesta Mahon – the head of the Department of Magical Transportation, or the D.M.T, for short.

She wore a smart suit of burgundy, and her heels clicked on the floor as she walked in, carrying a small stack of folders clutched to her breast. Her olive complexion was healthy, and for a brief moment, Amelia had a pang of jealousy at the appearance of the beautiful woman. Her hair was dark and wavy as it flowed past her shoulders, and her eyes were the colour of rich chocolate.

Amelia shook herself for the petty jealousy – she was no longer a child; she was a woman, successful in her own right, and married to a man she both adored and loved. A man who she very much wanted to return to – would it be too much to just go home, where it was safe; where she could make sure Harry was okay, that Sirius hadn’t worn the carpet out, and that Susan hadn’t fallen asleep on one of the garden benches again.

As Vesta sat, crossing her long legs elegantly – _hers_ were longer – Amelia turned to regard the next member of the meeting. Korban Slait, head of the Department of Mysteries.

Slait was, like Dirk, quite unremarkable in appearance. His robes were more on the traditional side, open at the front and ankle-length and he wore a white shirt, with a breast pocket, and black trousers beneath. His hair was white, though there was a light peppering of stubborn black at his temples and was swept back.

She had worked with Korban a number of times throughout her tenure as the head of her own department, and while he appeared quite intimidating with his calculating gaze, she found his ability to perform forensics most impressive – a large number of convicted felons had been found guilty by evidence his department had been able to provide.

The last to enter was her one-time boss from the days of the Blood War – Bartemius Crouch, Senior. He was a tall, lanky man with a sour face, and a bitter personality. While she hadn’t been under Crouch’s command for long, she had experienced more than a handful of reprimands for stupid things.

She could understand some of it, to an extent. He had presided over a department that was fighting a war; a war in which it was hard to tell friend from foe. She had admired his severe, hard-line approach to those found guilty of supporting Voldemort, and had pitied him in the weeks following Sirius’s farce of a trial.

Amelia couldn’t imagine having to send Susan to _Azkaban_ , of all places.

Just the mere _thought_ of that fortress was enough to send shivers down her spine – she’d had to visit it semi-regularly over the years as part of her job, and each time, she’d wept herself to sleep from the effects of the _Dementors_.

Crouch caught her eye as he entered, and his lip curled in disgust. She resisted the compulsion to scoff at his childish act of derision – with the discovery of his only child being a follower of the Dark Lord, and the shame of attempting to convict an innocent man, Crouch’s career in the D.M.L.E had been over, so too had his less-than-secret ambitions for the seat of Minister.

In fact, in the year following Sirius’s trial, she could clearly remember Arcturus seemingly making it his life’s ambition to ruin Crouch within the Wizengamot. At the time, she’d thought little of it – the damage had been done to the man, and he had never been particularly well-liked; respected, but not liked.

Now, as she watched him sink into his chair with contempt plastered all across his face, a part of her remembered those sessions quite fondly – _nobody_ tore someone apart like Arcturus had.

“ _Hem-hem_ , now that we’re all settled, I think it about time to begin – don’t you, Minister?” Dolores offered, her already thin lips pressed together in a sickeningly tight smile as her eyes swept over those in the room.

Amelia glanced at Rufus to her left, who had settled back into his chair with a huff – she gave him a bemused look before focusing back on the room at large.

“Quite right, Dolores – now, we’re here to determine how we can move forward in apprehending the most wanted man in the country; we’ll go by department – Barty, why don’t you start first?”

She turned her head to look at the man; he sat stiffly in his chair, and the pencil-thin moustache on his upper-lip twitched as he glared at the Minister. “My department is ensuring that our allies around the world are made aware that Mister Greyback is still at large.”

“Excellent – any responses so far we should be aware of?”

“None yet; I’m expecting most to have reached out by tomorrow morning.”

“Korban?” Cornelius asked, shifting his eyes from the sallow features of the ruined Lord of House Crouch. Amelia regarded the head of the D.O.M – he’d accompanied her and Rufus back to the factory with his teams of forensics specialists.

“My people swept the building and surrounding area thoroughly – we found traces of human matter, from liquids, to soft-tissue, and even partial skeletal remains in what we can only assume, was his, for lack of a better phrase, _nest_ , just beneath the main reception.” He announced with a sigh.

“Were these Muggles, or our own?” Dolores asked, sharply.

“Impossible to tell. We found evidence of varying ages among the victims – the youngest being only a few years old.”

“That’s deplorable.” Cornelius muttered, and for once, she found herself agreeing with the man.

“Well,” Dolores sniffed as she smoothed a wrinkle in her garishly pink skirt. “If you _do_ manage to do your job and discover the identities of the victims, I trust you’ll do right by any that are discovered to have been our own. Any Muggle victims, I’m sure, will find a mass grave sufficient for their own.”

“I didn’t realise I answered to you, _Dolores_.” Korban growled. “I assure you, _Madame Under-Secretary_ , that _regardless_ of where they came from, they will be treated with equal amounts of respect.”

“Agreed.” Cornelius nodded. “What can you tell us about the rest of your investigations?”

Korban grimaced and shifted in his seat. “Not much, I’m afraid – it’s too early to tell. We believe he’s used the factory before – a bolt-hole, perhaps. We found an access point to a small, underground canal that links to the larger one on the far side of the A-thirty-eight.” He glanced at the blank looks around the room, and Amelia had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “The big road next to the estate.” He sighed.

“Vesta, my dear? What news from the D.M.T?” Cornelius asked, smoothly moving on. Amelia felt her jaw twitch involuntarily from the patronising tone.

“No International Porkeys have been issued to anyone matching Fenrir’s description, but due to the current legislation, we can’t test for glamours and the like before sale. If we could get that changed, we _might_ be able to do something, but by that point…”

“If I may, Minister?” Dolores asked, fluttering her eyelashes as the Minister glanced at her over his shoulder. At his nod, she turned her smile to the head of the Department of Magical Transportation, though, thankfully, Vesta didn’t look at all intimidated by the Under-Secretary. Mahon had a well-earned reputation within the Ministry; sometimes, Amelia couldn’t help but wish she’d ended up with the Aurors – she could use a woman like her. “I simply can’t help but wonder if you’re doing all you can, given the… situation?”

“And what would you suggest?”

“Well, we know that our target is a Werewolf, is he not? Is it not possible he could surface is we tighten the laws on his kind? Restrict their movement? Ban them from obtaining Portkeys, for example.”

“It’s an idea.” Cornelius murmured, stroking his chin, thoughtfully. “They _are_ dangerous creatures.”

Amelia couldn’t help the snort that escaped her.

“Something to say, _Amelia_?” Dolores asked, sweetly. “After all, you have the most experience with their kind, don’t you?”

“If you mean Remus Lupin, then yes, and I assure everyone in here, Fenrir is an _exception_ to the rule. Remus is mild-mannered, polite, and highly intelligent; I’d struggle to see you keep up with him when he gets going, _Dolores_.” She answered, making a conscious effort to keep her tone neutral.

“Indeed, well, it’s of no consequence.” Dolores sniffed, patting the short up-do her hair was styled into. “It was simply an idea – one passed on from Lord Nott when he mentioned it in passing earlier this morning, in fact. The discussion reminded me, was all.”

“Nott? He suggested it?” Cornelius asked, curiously. “Well, we’ll have to give it the due consideration, of course.”

“Of course, Minister.” Dolores said, inclining her head, though there was a satisfied look about her that made Amelia’s gut churn uncomfortably.

“On the topic of creatures, Dirk?”

Cresswell shifted uncomfortably next to her and offered a sympathetic grimace before focusing his attention on the two behind the desk. “As everyone is aware, it’s being handled by Diggory’s team as it’s their specialty. They’ve been reaching out to the various packs around Britain, but so far, nothing.”

“That is unfortunate.” Dolores hummed, a single finger tapping her thigh as she speared Cresswell with a look of contempt.

“However, on the subject of Dolores’s suggestion about the laws, I must say that my department would recommend _not_ restricting those afflicted with Lycanthropy even further. Tensions are high between the Pack’s and the Ministry as it is.” Dirk added.

“This has been the sentiment of the I.C.W for some time, also.” Crouch grunted, though he looked loathe to admit it.

“We’ll table this discussion for another time, once Lord Nott’s recommendation has been given the appropriate consideration befitting his station.” Cornelius answered, before turning his gaze upon Amelia herself. “Amelia?”

She cleared her throat as she glanced around the room. “As you’re all no doubt aware, in the early hours of this morning, a raid was conducted in an Industrial Estate in Birmingham, to apprehend one Fenrir Greyback.” She paused, levelling a look at Cornelius. “Needless to say, it failed. Of the three full platoons sent in, we have only four survivors – all in the intensive care unit of Saint Mungo’s.”

“ _Jesus_.” Dirk swore under his breath.

“Families have been notified – I saw to it, as much as I could, myself, as the one that signed off on the operation. It’s since been discovered, thanks in no small part due to the efforts of Korban and his people, that only ten Aurors died to spellfire; the others were killed and mutilated by hand.”

“I can confirm these findings.” Korban nodded, grimacing. “It was… Quite the sight. Director Black should be commended for leading the three-two-seventh to rescue the survivors herself.”

“We’re well aware of the actions of Director Black.” Dolores answered, coldly.

“It should also be brought to your attention, that we believe we know who his next target will be.” She paused, sucking in a breath in an attempt to fortify herself. “We believe he intends to target Harry Potter.”

Cornelius began choking; his face turning an impressive shade of purple, while the other directors, besides Slait, who had seen the message for himself, began murmuring to themselves quietly – she heard a distinct scoff from the direction of Crouch.

“This – this _cannot_ be allowed to happen!” Cornelius managed, once he’d regained control of himself. “ _Every_ possible measure to protect Potter must be employed; is that understood?”

“I plan to see to it myself.” Amelia nodded. “He returns to Hogwarts tomorrow, and my husband will make sure the appropriate security is put in place through the Board of Governors. I suggest doubling the Auror presence in the town of Hogsmeade, and-“

“ _Ahem_ , if I may, I believe I have the perfect solution to this mess.” Dolores said, and Amelia bit back the annoyed retort at the interruption. “As we’re all aware, no doubt, the annual budget review for the D.M.L.E is coming up – may I suggest, however tentatively, that we employ a cost-free method?”

“What are you getting at?” Cornelius frowned.

“Why, I’m suggesting sending _beasts_ to hunt a _beast_ , Minister – deploy the one thing that will deter Fenrir Greyback and use them to safeguard Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Deploy the Dementors.”

“You can’t be serious!” Cresswell snapped, jumping to the edge of his seat, and slamming his hands on the arms of his chair. “Dolores, have you lost your _mind_?”

Amelia went pale as the blood rushed from her face – for a moment, she felt lightheaded as her heartbeat began to thud in her ears. Dementors… at _Hogwarts_! _Merlin_ , she couldn’t think of a more terrifying, reckless, and frankly _stupid_ thing to suggest!

“Dolores, you can’t seriously be thinking it appropriate to surround _children_ with those _disgusting_ things!” Rufus snapped, jolting her back to the meeting at hand. “Do you have _any_ idea just how dangerous they are?”

“I’m well aware of the danger they represent, _however_ , they are under the control of the Ministry – _we_ determine who they use their abilities on.”

“Minister, you can’t possibly think this is a good idea.” Amelia said, only just loud enough to be heard. “If the parents hear about this… _Merlin_ , _as_ a parent, I think this is _stupid_!”

“She could be on to something.” Cornelius muttered, leaning forward on the desk and steepling his fingers. “You’ve admitted just the other week, Amelia, that your department has exceeded the allotted budget-“

“Because crime is going up!”

“Nevertheless, I think this may be the best logical choice – we will take every precaution, of course; but with the threat of the Dementors after him, Greyback will be run to ground in no time at all, you mark my words.”

* * *

The setting sun was just peeking through the treeline at the far end of the grounds, the thin beams of light dancing back and forth to the steady, gentle swaying of the treetops in the breeze. Her nostrils were filled with that familiar, heady, rich smell that seemed to only exist in Sirius’s study.

It was exactly as it had been when she’d left that morning; not a single thing looked out of place as her eyes swept the room. Her eyes wandered back to the window behind her husband’s desk, and she stepped over to it slowly, her boots thudding softly on the varnished floorboards.

The study itself was on the ground floor of the manor, but the building itself sat a little higher than the surrounding grounds; a gentle, easy slope leading down past the colourful gardens, and into the large, open lawn that stretched until the far treeline.

It was a wonderful view, and as she stood there, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Harry and Susan, lounging on the grass, chatting animatedly about their Familiars; Harry with Clara and Hedwig on each shoulder, and Susan’s Augurey familiar, Bones, nestled comfortably in Susan’s lap.

They painted quite the picture of innocence – two children unaware of the threats and dangers that surrounded them; perhaps Harry was a little more aware than her little Susan, but for how much longer would they keep that innocence?

Sirius would have Harry grow up, wrapped in cotton wool and hidden away from the world in safety – something that she understood wholly. With the death of her brothers, the task of raising Susan had fallen to her – there was nothing she wouldn’t do to make sure Susan was safe, and with her marriage to Sirius, that same, hauntingly familiar feeling had extended to Harry as well.

It was hard to believe that she had only met him properly a little over a year ago, but it had felt like so much longer. With the betrothal to Sirius, and the two of them reconciling and discovering one another again, she had heard all about Harry as a boy; though she knew there were likely many, many more stories to be told – she’d seen all of the pictures of him as a baby, as a young boy that tried to look so much older, and the young teenager he had turned into.

She could still remember the first time Sirius had broached the subject of his _Prongslet_ – he’d had such a far-away look in his eyes, and his voice had taken on a proud, wistful quality that only ever made itself known when he was talking about Harry. Sirius was _so_ proud of him, declaring him the best of both James and Lily.

Amelia had known both, though distantly, through Sirius – James had been a mischievous young man, always with a charming smile, and playful twinkle in his eye, and Lily had been a force of nature unto herself. Both had been kind, and intelligent, and…

A part of her hadn’t wholly believed Sirius when he’d said as much, but now, looking out at Harry’s grinning face as he reached up to scratch Hedwig’s chin, she could see it – in truth, she’d seen it the moment she had laid eyes on him.

How could someone like that, become the target of someone so heinous, so reviled, as Fenrir Greyback? What had Harry ever done to that _beast_? She knew the answer, of course, loathed as she was to admit it, even to herself: Nothing.

Harry had done absolutely _nothing_ to earn the focus of Greyback. Greyback simply wished to incite chaos and pain wherever he could, _however_ he could, and what better way to do that, than by targeting the boy their world held so dear, whose family sigil was a wolf?

Her teeth clenched, even as a smile tugged on her lips as Susan threw her head back and laughed at something Harry had said.

Edgar’s girl had blossomed this past year, and she _knew_ nobody would be prouder than her oldest brother. She could still remember the way he’d smiled, rather goofily, as he passed his daughter into her waiting arms.

Susan had been so small, bundled up in her blankets, and she’d had this look on her face; something between concentrating and constipated, as she’d gazed up at her through half-closed eyes, her lips opening and revealing her tiny, toothless gums.

Her hand had wriggled its way out of the blankets and immediately pawed at her loose strands of hair; Amelia could still remember sinking into that soft chair beside Maddison’s hospital bed and waving her finger around little Susan’s nose, making cooing sounds to the sleepy baby.

A tear tracked its way down Amelia’s face, and she swiped it away stubbornly with the heel of her hand. Edgar and Maddison had been killed two months later, leaving her as Susan’s only living relative – Christopher, the middle-child, and his wife Freya, had been killed just before she’d graduated Hogwarts; murdered on their honeymoon.

It was something she’d always regretted; not being able to give Susan anyone else with the Bones name – it had just been the two of them, in The Ossuary. She’d made sure Susan had friends, but nothing quite amounted to _family_.

Susan had been shy, when she’d first met Harry – the two were in different Houses at Hogwarts, and Harry, for a lot of children, was a larger-than-life figure to them. When she’d heard of the distance between the two of them during their last year…

She blew out a breath and pulled her hair out of the frayed up-do and ran her fingers across her scalp. She’d been disappointed – she’d raised Susan to be better than that; she’d taught Susan to always stand up for what was right, to form decisions on her own and not allow others to influence her. At some point, she’d forgotten that Susan was still a young teenage girl.

At least they seemed to get on now – they’d need all the support they could give one another in the coming year.

The door opened slowly, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Sirius standing there, leaning against the doorway; a small crease between his eyebrows as he took her in. “Are you okay?”

“Just thinking.” She answered, quietly – she tried to offer a reassuring smile, but couldn’t help but feel it fell a little flat.

“What about?” He asked, pushing off the door frame until he was behind her, his arms snaking around her middle, his fingers drawing gentle circles on her stomach as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Work. The kids. Everything.” She sighed, leaning back against his chest as her hands settled over Sirius’s. “It’s been a hard day.”

“You said as much when you called earlier. You know it isn’t your fault, right?”

“I know that, but…” She licked her lips. “I feel like I could have done more. Fifty dead, Sirius – we haven’t had casualties like that since the war.”

“They knew what they were getting involved in – they knew the risks. Just like Prongs and I did, back in the day.”

“I forget you were an Auror sometimes.” She huffed, returning her gaze to the children outside. “Would you still be one? I mean…”

“I don’t know.” She felt Sirius shrug. “I did a lot of stupid things when I was younger – Arcturus had been ill for so long, and so many Blacks were signing up with Voldemort, and… Sometimes I think I really only joined to prove we weren’t all like that. It helped that James did it too, I think. Lily was furious with both of us when we told her.”

“It must have been hard, back then.”

Sirius pressed another kiss into her hair. “It was, but we had each other – well, we _thought_ we did.” He huffed, and Amelia found her fingers drawing lazy figures on the back of his hands. “Blamed myself for years afterwards, but Arcturus set me straight in the end.”

“What did he do?” She asked, shifting so she could look up at him – he hadn’t shaved, and his jaw had a rough five o’clock shadow, and his grey eyes were focused past the window, on the children.

“Slapped me around a bit.” He snorted, winking down at her. “He sat me down, and told me in no uncertain terms, to pull my head out of my arse and that not everything was about me.” Sirius shrugged, the faintest of fond smiles on his lips. “Told me James and Lily had made their decisions, and I’d made mine. Theirs had, inevitably, gotten them killed, and mine had landed me in jail, and no doubt would have seen me in _Azkaban_ if not for how the trial turned out. After the trial, I… I wasn’t in the best shape, emotionally, I mean. It got me focused on Harry and helped me pull myself out of the grief – Remus helped, too.”

“I miss him.” She whispered, lowering her eyes to their joined hands.

“Remus? I can go and get him-“

“No, you arse, you _know_ I meant Arcturus.” She snapped, slapping his hand, even as the corner of her lips twitched, and she could feel the shaking of his shoulders.

“I know – I miss him too.”

“He’d know what to do.”

“He’d tell you to get your head out of your arse.” Sirius snorted quietly, and Amelia couldn’t help the grin that split her face. “You did the best you could have given the situation, and four people are alive because of you. How are they, by the way?”

“Smith is still comatose, but he was responding to the treatment. Dawlish and Williamson were in surgery for most of the day – they think Williamson’s spine got nicked, and Dawlish had some severe internal bleeding. Proudfoot had a few shattered ribs, so they were keeping an eye on him for a few days.” She said, turning in Sirius’s arms and wrapping her arms around his chest. “I spent a bit of time with Dora.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s tough.” She mumbled, burying her face in Sirius’s doublet. “You’d have been proud of her.”

“Dora’s the best of us in a lot of ways, I think.” Sirius said after a moment of silence. “She’ll always be that little kid I remember, though.”

“That’s how I think of Susan.” Amelia smiled, leaning back as Sirius glanced down at her. “Just before you came in, I was thinking of when Edgar handed her to me.”

Sirius snorted, and a fond grin appeared. “ _Gods_ , you should’ve seen Prongs. Kept mumbling ‘ _my son_ ’ for a month whenever he held Harry – everything changed after Harry was born.”

She nodded and glanced over her shoulder. “It was the same with Susan. I wasn’t ready, looking back on it.”

“You were – I told you as much back then. It was _me_ that wasn’t ready.”

“But you stepped up. Harry couldn’t have a more loving home.” Amelia smiled up at Sirius, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Harry is who he is because of _you_.”

“Don’t think I don’t see a miniature you out there with her Augurey.” Sirius huffed, nodding in her niece’s direction through the window. Amelia twisted and raised a brow curiously.

“Really?” She hummed. “I always thought I saw Edgar – maybe a little bit of Chris and Dad.”

Sirius snorted. “Trust me, it’s scary at times.”

“Why do I suddenly feel insulted?” She asked, narrowing her gaze at her husband as she looked at him again.

“On the contrary, it’s the highest compliment.” Sirius murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead that made her smile. “Come on, Remus wanted to speak with you if you’re up to it.”

“I-“ Amelia began before pausing, her eyes darting back to the children lounging on the grass. “Nothing can get through the Wards, right?”

“I raised them properly after you told me about the threat earlier. Remus is permitted, because he’s tied to the Family Magic – nothing is getting in without my permission.”

“Okay, it’s just-“

“-Birmingham is so close; I figured as much. Dobby’s watching the two of them as well.”

She smiled and cocked her head at Sirius – the fading light was dancing back and forth on his chest, and in the fading light, his grey eyes were looking at her with such a clear tenderness, that it made her heart flutter in her chest, _despite_ the awful day.

He held his hand out to her, and she took it gratefully, their fingers intertwining as he led her from the study. The two of them walked through Blackwall sedately – a welcome change of pace after the last eighteen hours.

Sirius led her to the library, where Remus was nestled in a winged-back leather chair, legs folded at the knee, and a book perched in his lap; a cup of steaming tea sat on the table next to him, and his face was lined with that familiar sense of tension it got whenever he was concentrating.

“Moony.” Sirius called as they two of them entered – Remus glanced at them quickly and snapped the book closed as he got to his feet.

“Sirius, Amelia – do either of you want a drink, or?”

“No thanks.”

“Sure.” Amelia nodded tiredly, smiling appreciatively at Kreacher as he popped in with a steaming mug for her. The hook-nosed Elf bowed silently and disappeared as she wrapped her hands around the beverage and blew on it gently before taking a fortifying sip.

She closed her eyes for a blissful second as the warm liquid travelled down her throat, and a contented sigh whispered past her lips, and when she opened them, Remus had retaken his seat, perched on the edge with his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped before him.

“Amelia, I have to know…”

“Didn’t Sirius tell you?”

“I thought it best he hears it from you – you only told me about the threat to Harry. I implied the rest and didn’t want to make any assumptions.” Sirius shrugged, though he chewed on the inside of his cheek anxiously.

She sighed and wiped a tired hand down her face; shifting so she was half leaning against Sirius. She stared at the cup in her hands, her left index finger absently tracing the rim. “He got away, obviously.” She began, her voice quiet. “Fifty dead; four wounded. He tore them all apart – only ten were killed by spells.”

“ _Gods_ …” Remus moaned, burying his face in his hands. Sirius remained silent.

“The message was written in blood, and he used a lightning bolt as the ‘L’ in wolf.” She continued, taking a shuddering breath. “Rufus and I are being held accountable by Cornelius and Dolores, which is fair. Rufus came to me for the go-ahead, and I signed off on it. Korban and his team from the D.O.M went back there with us a few hours later to collect the bodies and do a proper investigation.”

“How bad was it?” Sirius asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and giving it a light squeeze.

“We think he’s used that place for a while; Korban’s team found too many remains for them all to have been recent. Some were… too young.”

Remus got to his feet suddenly and wandered over to the crackling fireplace, his hands resting on the mantle – in the flickering flames, his body half-turned to the two of them, his amber eyes glowed, and his skin was pale; his scars standing out vividly. “And now he’s after Harry.” Remus muttered, staring at the flames.

“I think it’s time you told her.” Sirius offered, quietly, and Amelia found herself frowning at her husband, confused. He didn’t see her, however; his eyes focused on his best friend across the room.

As the silence dragged on, the darkness of the rows and rows of bookshelves, travelling up three different levels, and disappearing into the high, vaulted ceiling felt all-encompassing, stifling, and oppressing. Amelia shifted awkwardly.

“He bit me.” Remus announced into the silence; his voice snarling as his fingers clenched the mantle – she heard the faint cracking of the varnished oak. “I was four.”

“Greyback infected you?” She gasped, her free hand going to her mouth.

“He did.” Remus nodded as his shoulders heaved. “Every full moon since…”

“ _Gods_ , Remus, why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“I’m a Wizard.” He answered her, drawing himself up slowly to his full height, though she noted the tension in his shoulders remained. She watched as he straightened his doublet. “I’ve always considered myself a Wizard first, and a Werewolf second, but when Sirius mentioned you had gone after Fenrir, well, I…”

“Say no more.” Amelia nodded, quickly putting her mug on the coffee table, and perching herself on the lip of the couch. “I understand.”

Remus smiled sadly; his lips pressed tightly together as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t think you do, but I appreciate the sentiment nevertheless.” He breathed in deeply through his nose before heaving a sigh. “This will make Hogwarts difficult.”

“You don’t say.” Sirius muttered, dryly. “I can only do so much on The Board – and I know for a fact that Harry’s been looking forward to Hogsmeade since we got back from Arpton.” She smiled sadly as Sirius got to her feet, his wand appearing in his hand as he cast a quick charm to repair the cracked wood. “Can he not be home-schooled this year?”

“He’d never forgive you.” Amelia sighed, running her hand through her hair. “Susan would never forgive me, either.”

“And it would make my new job rather redundant.” Remus huffed, folding his arms as he frowned. “Besides, if the three of us are at Hogwarts, I can keep an eye on them, and if Greyback _does_ show up, I-“

“You are _not_ going toe-to-toe with Greyback!” Sirius snapped, pointing a finger at his best friend. His face was flush from the sudden anger, and his shoulders heaved. “You tried that stupid shit in the War, and you almost got yourself killed!”

“Excuse me?” Amelia blinked, eyes darting between the two of them. Remus scoffed and looked away, scowling as his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Moony was tasked with infiltrating the packs in the War for Dumbledore, and he tried to goad Greyback into a fight, only he set his pack on him instead.” Sirius growled, waving an arm in Remus’s direction. “If you think he won’t do the same shit twice…”

“I’m not _stupid_ , Sirius!” Remus snapped, snapping his blazing gaze on her husband.

“Really? ‘Cause you’re supposed to be the smartest Marauder, but when you come out with shit like that-”

“ _Enough_!” Amelia snapped, getting to her feet, and folding her arms as she marched up between the both of them. “It’s been a pretty awful day, and I’ll not sit here and watch you both argue like children. _Nobody_ will get close to Greyback unless it’s one of my Aurors, is that understood?”

Sirius scoffed and turned away, waving an arm over his shoulder. Remus remained stubbornly quiet.

“I said: _is that understood_?” She repeated, louder and sharper. She received a pair of grunts from the two men. “Good, because there’s a far more serious problem. Cornelius is posting Dementors around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.”

“He’s doing _what_?” Both men yelled, anger and disbelief in equal parts.

Sirius swept past her half a second later, his boots thudding against the carpet. “Where do you think you’re off to?”

“To ruin Fudge’s _fucking_ career!” He bellowed, throwing the door open and storming out.


	43. Harry XXIX

The compartment gently rocked side-to-side, and the overhead light flickered for a moment – the others paying it no attention as he glanced at them out of the corner of his eye. He focused his gaze back on the window, straining to see past the long trails of water, and the slight condensation creeping up from the corners.

The world beyond the window was pitch-black, and he had no idea just how far along their journey they were. In the distance, a brief flash of lightning lit up a pair of mountains in the distance. He shifted in his seat.

The morning of his return to Hogwarts, had, in hindsight, mirrored the closing days of his summer – he had woken up, dressed in his school uniform, and had his breakfast with his family. Susan had been excited for the coming year, and for reuniting with her friends; she had visited those she could over the summer when they were at Blackwall, but it wasn’t the same as their time at Hogwarts.

He’d understood her desire to spend time with her friends – while the two of them had grown closer over the summer, and he enjoyed her company, but she was no replacement for any of his friends. Despite the farce with Trevelyan turning up at Arpton and forcing him to extend his stay until he’d left, he’d enjoyed his summer – his birthday had been the best weekend ever.

There were so few days that he could remember when he didn’t feel some mounting pressure from something or another, or even the expectations he had for himself – but when his friends had come over, he’d been able to be _Harry_.

It felt weird, knowing he’d spent more time with his friends than Susan had with hers. If it were up to him, he’d have had her friends around as well, or worked something out where Susan could go and visit. But then, he wasn’t an adult – as Sirius had said upon his return from Hogwarts, adults usually sorted that kind of thing out, and, although he often thought otherwise, it was _their_ job.

His thoughts drifted to the adults in his life – Sirius had been tense for days, like a coiled viper ready to strike. His eyes had been stormy, and his smiles forced. He’d never seen Sirius that way, and even now, as he thought back on it, the feeling of Sirius’s magic, simmering around him, barely kept under control made shivers run down his spine.

He hoped Sirius would be alright.

Amelia had barely been home, always in the Ministry – she would leave early in the morning, and arrive home late in the evening, usually after they’d all eaten. Woopy had kicked up a storm about her abnormal eating times, but in the end, it was just his own way of showing he cared.

Harry hadn’t missed the dark circles beneath her eyes that morning either; whatever it was that she was having to do at the Ministry, he feared it was beginning to take its toll on her. Susan had noticed also, the two of them having shared more than a few concerned glances before boarding the train.

Remus had, shockingly, been the most normal – Harry knew he was anxious about taking up his new position at Hogwarts, even if it was only to keep an eye on him. He wasn’t worried though. Remus was an _excellent_ teacher.

Those days spent in the library at Blackwall, huddled around a small table, and sat at a chair that was a little too large for him, while Remus taught him his numbers, and how to read and write were some of his fondest memories.

They’d milled around the house for an hour after breakfast – Susan had retreated to her room to make sure all of her things were packed, while Harry had spent some time with Arlan out in the stable. He’d not brought the stallion out of his stable, instead, he’d contented himself with gently stroking his face and murmuring quiet words to his horse.

Arlan had been patient with him, and, thankfully, not pushed to be let out for a run or a brush. He’d butted his shoulder more than once, playfully wrapping his lips around the folds of leather on his school coat, and his dark eyes had been soft and warm.

He already missed Arlan and felt terrible that he couldn’t be with the fantastic creature for more of the year. When he’d first ridden a horse, he’d thought it the worst thing in the world at the time – the mare he’d travelled to the Capitol on had been nowhere near as exciting as flying a broom, and she’d barely listened to a thing he’d told her to do, far more content to follow both Sirius and Remus’s mounts.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his life _without_ Arlan – he couldn’t imagine not spending time with him, be it brushing him down, or pushing him to his absolute limits on the rolling plains beneath Arpton as the wild Aurochs watched on. Brooms were still fun, and he enjoyed playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t as exhilarating as working with the horse beneath him.

He exhaled softly, his shoulders drooping slightly as the desire to visit Arlan in his stable began to spread through his chest. He trusted the House Elves and Sirius to care for Arlan, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would be warm enough – if he had enough hay, enough water – had his bag of oats been refilled?

His hands clenched and unclenched – if there was one thing he was thankful for in these moments of anxiety, it was that his Familiars were already at Hogwarts. He was deeply attached to both Clara and Hedwig, and he was well aware that he was only supposed to have a single Familiar at Hogwarts as a student, but _Gods_ , he couldn’t imagine them not being there.

He’d sent them both ahead to Hogwarts with Dobby, along with his trunk. Dobby would make sure that his room was to his liking – he’d insisted on it, actually; quite vehemently, in fact. He could sense both of his birds to the north, both happy and excited – he was fairly sure Clara was fast asleep.

Unlike himself, Susan had opted to have Bones on the train with her – the Augurey had rarely left Susan’s side since their return to England, and the blue-eyed bird rarely took his own eyes off of Clara; not that she gave him the time of day.

At first, Bones had made him laugh – the way the mournful-looking Irish Phoenix would puff up his greenish-black feathers and spread his wings whenever Clara would appear had made him think of a few of the older students at Hogwarts that he’d seen over the last two years.

In the later days of the summer, and especially once everyone had Apparated to the platform earlier that morning, Bones had stared at him quite unnervingly – at first, he’d thought it because Clara hadn’t been with them, but there had been something about that unblinking stare that had unnerved him.

He’d shaken it off, putting it down to his nerves for returning to school, and his concern for Sirius and Amelia. Instead, he’d focused on the platform itself.

There had been a small crowd, which was to be expected for having arrived an hour early, and almost two dozen red-robed Aurors, each one more stone-faced and stoic than the last. Their eyes had been hard as they swept the crowd, and each one had a wand in their hands – at one point, he’d thought he’d even caught sight of a silver dagger in a holster on one of their belts, but it had happened so quickly, he couldn’t be sure. No doubt, their presence heralded by the articles he had read in the _Daily Prophet_ he had been reading.

Amelia had disappeared for a few minutes, hurrying over to a grizzly looking Auror with scars all over his face and half an ear missing, where the two talked quickly. He’d stopped looking when Susan had tapped his shoulder and began pointing out all sorts of Familiars.

There had been dozens, and they’d all been so varied – some he’d recognised from around the school before, like Lilith’s black Jaguar; he’d seen the two of them board at the far end of the platform. No doubt that would make a few first-years jump. There had been others too – he’d seen a Puma, and he’d thought he’d even caught sight of Aspen, Lauren Calvert’s wolf, but he hadn’t been sure.

There were an ungodly number of owls and other birds – the second carriage had been positively _covered_ in them. The owls had been quiet for the most part, only hooting or barking when one of the other birds got too curious. The others, species too numerous to count, hadn’t been so quiet – it had been a miracle that the train hadn’t become a zoo in the time since they’d left the station.

When Amelia had returned, and their goodbyes shared, Remus had escorted the two of them onto the train. It had felt like some significant thing, to have stepped foot back on the Hogwarts Express, surrounded by the scent of stained wood, burned ozone, and smoke from the train chimney. He’d paused, stopping at the doorway and looked back to Sirius.

He’d nearly ran back to him in that moment, when both of their eyes had met – there was something there that he wasn’t understanding, and no matter how much he’d thought about it since, he still wasn’t sure what it could have been. He’d turned and followed after Remus and Susan at Sirius’s encouraging smile and wave, even though he could tell it was forced.

Remus and Susan hadn’t gone far – only halfway down the carriage they’d entered; already there had been excited first years, perched on benches with their Familiars in their lap as they chatted to those around them. He’d smiled when some caught sight of him, and one girl had gone white as a sheet when her eyes had caught the barely-there scar on his forehead.

They’d passed into the compartments after that – the most sought-after seats on the train; they were perfect for sitting with friends, and for a modicum of privacy during the excruciatingly-long journey.

Susan had found Hannah Abbott first, sat chatting with Earnest Macmillan, and Blaise Zabini. The three had been delighted to see Susan, though each of them had seemed a little wary at his hovering presence – not that he could blame them; the Daily Prophet was still printing articles about Ruhxu once a week as her remains became available on the international market.

He’d left Susan after that, though he’d made sure she knew she was more than welcome to visit his compartment at any point during the trip – they’d had a string of luck, finding the next two after Susan’s empty; Remus had taken the next one, and Harry’s was last.

Remus had accompanied him to his own compartment, a comforting hand on his shoulder – they’d spoken for a few minutes, beyond the threshold of the door; pausing only long enough for Remus to place his cloak on one of the benches of his own.

They’d talked about nothing, really, just little things to fill the silence. Harry had claimed the bench with his back to Remus’s compartment, and his eyes had been drawn to the gradually-filling platform. He’d spotted both Sirius and Amelia quickly, the two of them waving at him – Sirius had his arm around Amelia’s waist, and her head had been resting against his shoulder – if it hadn’t been for his sense of unease, he’d have thought them no different from the dozens of other parents strewn about the platform.

Remus had patted his shoulder after that and assured him that the two of them would be fine.

Harry somewhat doubted that.

Moony had left after that, the compartment filling with silence following the sharp click of the sliding door as Remus closed it behind him. He’d sat quietly for a time, content to let his mind wander, and his magic to rise to the surface.

He lost himself in it, feeling the way that it railed against the chains that he’d placed upon it, straining to get loose, to be _used_ – it begged and pleaded, whispered and yelled. He’d stared at his right hand through it all, watching as a single tendril of crimson energy danced along the length of his fingers.

When the door had clicked open, he’d been so startled, lost as he was in the pseudo-meditation, that he’d almost allowed his magic to escape his fingers – _Merlin_ , what an awful way to have started the year that would have been.

Though, seeing that it had been Hermione that had startled him so hadn’t helped the racing of his heart. He’d shot to his feet, seeing her enter the small room, and he’d tried to smile at her like he always had, but there was something about it all that made his hands tremble, and his stomach feel like it was wrapped up in the most uncomfortable way. It was strangely addictive.

She was dressed in her uniform – no doubt all of his friends would be; it was much more preferable to getting changed on the train, though some insisted on it. His eyes had travelled the length of her body, and without any prompting, the image of her in a swimsuit had flashed in his mind.

He’d swallowed, while she’d grinned and hefted her trunk through the door.

It had taken another two seconds for him to shake himself out of it, rushing forward to take her trunk and to quickly slide it onto the railing across and above his seat, though when he’d turned back to Hermione, she’d suddenly, inexplicably, been _there_ , almost nose-to-nose with him.

He’d always been close with Hermione – ever since the Troll – the two of them often exchanged hugs, and she’d even held his hand once or twice, but in the cramped confines of the compartment, he’d been all too aware of their close proximity. Before he knew it, she’d launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, while his own had wrapped around her middle instinctually.

The leather of his school cloak had creaked ominously as Hermione had squeezed him tightly. Her hair had tickled his nose, but he could smell that familiar shampoo she liked to use. The two had separated after a moment, and Hermione had beamed up at him, her cheeks tinged pink. He’d let her sit first, and he’d had to swallow again when he saw her tuck her pleated skirt beneath her legs as she sat down and crossed them.

The picture had flashed through his mind again. _Merlin_ , he was glad he’d left it at Blackwall.

He’d sat down in his spot next to the window and shifted awkwardly when he realised their knees were touching – something Hermione didn’t seem to care about, or, he figured, she didn’t even realise.

Before he could say anything, a large, ginger Kneazle appeared, the very same one from their trip to _Magical Menagerie_ the previous summer – Crookshanks, Hermione reminded him. His golden eyes had peered at him curiously, and he’d felt a brief wave of magic wash over him before Crookshanks leapt up into Hermione’s lap and butted his head against his arm, purring as he rubbed against his sleeve.

Hermione had been thrilled, of course, and had gladly told him everything about her Familiar – though she had expressed some regret at not being able to spend her classes with Hedwig. He’d laughed at that, warning her that Hedwig was still just as likely to turn up in her room unannounced, regardless of Crookshanks’ presence.

The two chatted happily, falling into that familiar cloak of comfort and ease that he enjoyed so very much. When Neville had arrived, his trunk banging against the doorframe as he shimmied it open, he’d almost forgotten that the others were supposed to be arriving soon.

Neville had stowed his trunk away and flopped down on the bench across from Harry with nary a care in the world; his hair, unlike his own, hung loose and in front of his face, while Harry’s was tied into a messy bun at the back of his head – sometimes, he couldn’t believe Augusta hadn’t made him chop it all off.

The three of them had laughed and talked until Daphne had turned up – the Greengrass heiress hurrying into the compartment and closing it behind her, her chest heaving up and down, and a wild look in her eye. For the first time in his life, he’d thought she looked _flustered_.

He’d been about to ask why when he’d heard Astoria’s voice on the far side of the door, accompanied by a gentle knocking. They’d all burst out laughing at that – except for Daphne, of course, who’d glared at the three of them before spinning and opening the door for her sister.

If it hadn’t been for Daphne’s imperious stance in the doorway, he was sure Astoria would have sprinted into the compartment and flung herself at him – in fact, he was still sure that had been her plan; especially after he’d seen how she’d leaned around Daphne and grinned at him.

When Daphne had eventually allowed her sister inside, and both girls had put their trunks away, Astoria had leapt at him, flinging her arms around his shoulders, and shuffling until she was sat in his lap. He’d groaned as she crushed his thighs, and she earned more than one admonishing look from Daphne, and even a warning from Hermione, but the look on her face when she’d showed him a spell she’d learned with her wand had been priceless.

Piper had contentedly curled up in the corner of the bench, at the far end to where Astoria had accosted him. Tracey had arrived just as he’d managed to get Astoria to take her own seat and let his thighs recover.

Tracey had been the final one of their little group to arrive – as usual – and she’d quickly dragged Daphne and Hermione into a conversation about the latest perfume she’d bought, while Astoria had been content to quietly talk to Piper, whose tail had beat a steady rhythm against the seat.

After that, it hadn’t been long until the train had set off, lurching away from the platform with the familiar chuffing sound, and the shouted farewells of all the students and parents. They’d all waved to their families, who, he’d noticed, had all found one another among the crowd.

He’d watched the scenery flash by – at first, it had been the buildings of London, and the busy roads, and later on, it had become rolling countryside, and tall trees. Twice they had entered tunnels, and each time the lights in the ceiling had made sure they had been able to continue on with their conversations, or, in Hermione’s case, read her books.

The temptation had been there, to call for Dobby and ask for a book of his own, but he’d chosen not to – his mind was in so much of a buzz, trying to work out, well, _everything_ , that he’d wouldn’t have been able to focus on the words.

When the restless energy he’d felt had finally gotten too much, he’d gotten up to go for a wander around the train – Neville had been fast asleep by that point, and he was sure they had just passed Sheffield. Daphne and Tracey were talking animatedly with their hands about _something_ , and Astoria was curled up into Hermione’s side, her eyes darting back and forth across the page in his fellow Gryffindor’s lap.

He’d smiled to himself as he’d stepped out, rolling his shoulders as he passed Moony’s compartment – a quick rap of his knuckles on the glass had the man standing before him in the doorway, a concerned look on his face, and his sheafs of parchment left abandoned on the seat behind him.

The two had exchanged only a few words – Harry letting the Marauder know he was just going to stretch his legs. With a nod, and a warning to be careful, he’d continued on his way further down the train.

It had been during the little jaunt along the train that he’d regretted not having his cloak with him – everywhere he went, there was a following pair of eyes and whispered conversation. Sometimes, he wished he could just fade into the background of the world and let someone else take the spotlight.

The pinched, but otherwise handsome features of Draco had ruined his mood when the two had met in the corridor outside of a compartment full of second year Ravenclaws. The blonde-haired Slytherin had remained in his place in the middle of the corridor, his group of friends behind him – Crabbe and Goyle had loomed like the pair of gorillas he was sure they were descended from, but he’d also spotted Parkinson; a brunette girl that, ordinarily, he would consider pretty if not for the ugly scowl on her face.

No words had been shared between them – despite the tension. His fists had clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he’d raised a challenging eyebrow at those in his way. Draco’s face had remained remarkably neutral, only the glint of anger in his pale grey eyes giving him away. In the end, it had been Crabbe that stepped back and allowed him to pass.

After that, he spent only enough time to purchase some snacks from the bar toward the back of the train, making sure to get a little something for everyone, before returning and flopping down in his seat with a huff.

He talked with Hermione a little after that, talking about some of their homework over the summer, before she too, had dozed off, her head propped on his shoulder as she snored quietly, little tendrils of her curly hair rising and falling around her mouth.

It had been awkward at first, but eventually, he got used to it. He’d tried napping for an hour himself, only to give up and return to staring out at the world beyond the window. The sun had gradually set over the course of the afternoon and had finally given way to the crescent moon as they passed through a patch of thick pine trees.

The rain had started shortly after that and had given no indication that it planned to stop any time soon – it had been raining steadily for two hours, and the lightning had been fairly regular for an hour.

There was another flash, and there was a brief moment where he thought he caught sight of the shimmering reflection in a nearby river, though with all the raindrops on the window, it was entirely possible he imagined the whole thing.

The compartment rocked violently, and Hermione sat up with a yelp, her eyes were slightly dazed, and there was a strand of hair stuck to her cheek – something in his chest tightened uncomfortably as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Astoria, on the far side of her, groaned and sat up with a stretch, her arms above her head.

Neville continued to sleep, with only the rise and fall of his chest, and a small grunt of annoyance to show that he hadn’t, in fact, died without them realising. Daphne’s sharp elbow to his ribs woke him when the compartment rocked again.

“Hngh, whassat for?” Neville groaned, rubbing his side as he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Making sure you hadn’t died.” Daphne answered with a smirk, while Tracey snickered behind her hand. Harry’s lips quirked, watching as Neville went through the various stages of waking up.

“Are we there yet?” Neville muttered, stretching out his legs and rolling his ankles. “ _Gods_ , I’m stiff.”

“No wonder – you’ve not moved for hours.” Tracey scoffed, though her eyes were drawn to the flickering light next to the window.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He groused, shooting Tracey a baleful look.

“Because you’re an arse when you’ve just woken up.” Harry offered with a grin.

“I do wish you would mind your language, Harry – Astoria might get the wrong idea.” Hermione huffed, scratching the grumpy-looking Crookshanks behind the ears absently. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Neville asked, confused.

“The entire compartment just lurched.” Harry answered, holding up his fingers. “Twice.”

“Did we hit something?” Tracey frowned, inching forward on the bench.

“It was probably just a strong gust of wind.” Daphne shrugged, her eyes focused on Astoria, who, when he looked around Hermione, was clutching Piper nervously, her eyes darting around the compartment as she chewed her bottom lip. “Nothing to worry about, alright?”

Astoria nodded, her hair bouncing on either side of her head.

The train stopped with a jolt, and Harry found himself almost thrown from his seat by the force of it, only his foot hastily coming up to brace against the bench on the far side stopping him from ending up in Neville’s lap.

Astoria gave a squeal as Daphne caught her, wrapping her arms around her younger sister, while Hermione braced herself on his shoulder – both Crookshanks and Piper were flung from their seats, the Kneazle hissing angrily, and Piper growled menacingly at the door, his tail tucked between his hindlegs.

Harry glanced nervously around the compartment – the rain was hammering even harder against the window, and there was a chill in the air that he didn’t think had been there before; or, perhaps, he was simply imagining it.

“I’m scared!” Astoria whined, curling up in Daphne’s lap while her older sister gently stroked her head. Tracey stood and slid the door open, ducking her head out – from the sound of it, everyone in the carriage had the same idea. Students called back and forth between themselves, and he thought he heard Susan’s voice.

“Everything’s going to be alright.” He said softly, reaching over to squeeze Astoria’s hand. She nodded with a sniff and wiped the back of her hand under her nose.

“What can you see?” Hermione asked, and like everyone else in the compartment, he looked to Tracey. She shrugged and closed the door, sliding it closed with a sharp click, and flopping back into her seat on the bench.

“Nothing much.” Tracey sighed, shrugging. “Everyone else looks just as confused – I saw Remus heading down to the front of the train. Probably going to go speak to the Aurors I saw earlier or something.”

“You think they might know something?” Neville frowned, his wand in his hands as he fiddled with it absently. Harry was sorely tempted to do the same.

“Makes sense – we _never_ have Aurors on the train. Something must be up. Did Amelia say anything to you about it?” Daphne frowned, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she looked to him.

He shook his head slowly, his lips pressed tightly together. “No – I didn’t even realise there were Aurors on the train. I only saw the ones on the platform.”

The lights in the ceiling flickered out, and Astoria moaned into Daphne’s shoulder. Crookshanks darted onto the bench between Neville and the window, hissing and swiping a paw at the frosted glass.

“What’s gotten into him?” Neville frowned, inching away from the Kneazle warily.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione huffed, picking the Kneazle up before settling down in her seat again. Despite the situation, Harry couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat when he felt Hermione’s hip against his own. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Maybe he could hear something outside?” Tracey offered, stepping around Piper and shuffling between everyone’s feet to peer out of the window.

“What could possibly be out there in this weather?” Neville huffed, inching toward the window himself. “It’s a nightmare out there.”

Harry blew out a breath and resisted the urge to pull his hair out of the knot and run his fingers through it. Something about it all didn’t sit well with him – his muscles were tense, and his magic was bubbling just beneath the surface.

“ _Gods_ , there’s actually something out there – I saw it move!” Neville gasped, jabbing his finger at the glass. He turned to Tracey. “Did you see that?”

“No, where?”

“Right there! It was only for a second, but…”

“Perhaps the two of you should get away from the window? And possibly _stop_ looking for things in the dark that might make people more nervous than they already are?” Daphne snapped, tipping her head toward Astoria.

Both Neville and Tracey looked chagrined at that, murmuring soft apologies as they slid back into their seats. Harry’s eyes drifted first to Hermione, who was nervously running her fingers down Crookshanks’ flank, while Daphne and Astoria were slowly rocking back and forth.

The carriage rocked again, so violent it was with its sudden motion, that Astoria tumbled out of Daphne’s grip, falling into Tracey with a groan. Even through the closed door, it was easy to hear the frightened screams from those further down the carriage. A scraping noise on the roof cried out in the darkness, and Harry stared up at the ceiling nervously.

“ _Merlin_ , look at the window!” Neville muttered.

His head spun, and his jaw clenched at the sight of ice creeping across the glass. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in short bursts – he felt Hermione grip his wrist, her fingers ice cold. When he looked at her, blinking rapidly, he could see puffs of mist with each rapid rise and fall of her chest, her shoulders heaving.

The two of them were hardly the only ones in the compartment scared – Daphne and Tracey were gripping each other tightly, their eyes darting around the small room, and Neville clutched Astoria to his chest. Both Piper and Crookshanks stood with their hackles up, glaring at the door, growling, and hissing, respectively.

A scraping noise, like the sound of ice scraping together drew his eyes to the window – his heart in his throat. A long, skeletal finger drifted over the glass, small cracks in the ice forming in its wake. He held his breath as it drifted ever further upward, until, finally, it disappeared.

He released the breath, and rubbed his hands together, just before the carriage trembled one more time, and the startled screams of those in the other compartments reached his ears. Hermione wrapped a trembling arm around his own, and loathed as he was to do it, he gently pried it free and flicked his wand into his hand, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously.

“Everyone, away from the door.” He said, getting to his feet enough for Hermione to shuffle past him. Across from him, Daphne and Tracey disentangled themselves, and he saw their own wands flicking into their trembling hands – Hermione, when he glanced at her, already had her wand in-hand, and aimed at the door.

Outside the door, there was a brief, sudden sound of glass shattering, and the roaring boom of thunder overhead – his hand clenched around the handle of his wand, an icy chill formed in the pit of his gut, and his legs trembled violently. The sudden urge to moan struck him, but he had to remain strong – for his friends, and for little Astoria.

There was a deep moaning sound, otherworldly in its origin – like a thousand voices, all calling out in despair, and it made that pit of ice in his stomach twist and churn painfully. His extremities were cold with the mounting terror it heralded, and the world lurched violently around him, his vision darkening in the corners.

Beyond the glass into the hallway, he saw the floating robes first, shredded tendrils floating unnaturally before whoever, _whatever_ , it was that had just boarded the train. The figure floated along, long, dark, skeletal fingers reaching out beyond the sleeves of whatever cloak they were draped in. As they moved, ice formed along the glass and the wood, crinkling, and crackling painfully as it spread.

He ground his teeth as the figure approached the door, and his shoulders tensed, but the figure continued onward, past the door, and eventually out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief and fell back against the wall behind him as his legs gave out from beneath him, his chest heaving and the darkness in the corners of his eyes receding.

“Is – is everyone alright?” He panted, looking around at everyone.

Hermione nodded, her own wand-arm dropping limply to her side as her shoulders shook violently. Her hair, which fell about her shoulders, fell forward as she buried her face in her hands as she quietly sobbed.

On his other side, Astoria was moaning into Neville’s chest, her hands fisting the leather of his coat as her body trembled – Neville, on the other hand, looked at him vacantly, his mouth forming silent words as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

Tracey slumped to the side, having been the closest to the door – like Neville, her gaze was vacant as she stared through the far bench. The little puffs of mist forming before her face, and the slight rise and fall of her chest were the only confirmation that she was still breathing.

Daphne seemed to be in the best state, looking only slightly more pale than usual – her blue eyes met his quickly, before she hurried to pull Astoria into her own lap. With trembling arms, Harry pushed himself back up and shrugged his coat off, draping it over Tracey and brushing the hair away that had fallen over her face.

“Will she be alright?” Daphne asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know – what was that thing?” He answered, looking over his shoulder at Hermione and Neville. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of _anything_ that could do that just by passing by.”

Daphne shook her head, her hand smoothing the hair at the back of Astoria’s. “I don’t know either, maybe-“

A scream ripped the air, and the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end – he recognised the voice.

 _Susan_.

Without hesitating, he threw the door open and darted into the corridor; ice covered the entire length from floor to ceiling. Behind him, the constant thudding of raindrops against the carpet revealed how the creature had entered the train.

Two doors down, the ominous, billowing robes of _whatever_ it was, were visible just beyond the threshold of the door. He could hear the screams of the students – the low moans of the boys, and the shrieks of Susan, and, no doubt, Hannah Abbott.

He rushed forward, his feet fighting for purchase on the slippery surface beneath him; his arms flaring out at his sides as he fought for balance. He slid to a halt, just past the door to Remus’s compartment, which, he was thankful to spot, was indeed empty. “Hey!” He shouted, and the screams turned to pained whimpering as the _being_ floated back into the hallway.

That familiar, cold feeling in the bottom of his gut returned, and the deep, guttural moan assaulted his ears once again. He snapped his wand up, his hand trembling as the creature placed its skeletal fingers against the wall and floated toward him.

He thrust his wand forward, the powerful, crimson lance of magical energy leaping from the tip of his wand and streaking down the corridor toward the black cloaked being. The spell was powerful enough to shatter bones on impact, but when the spell struck the creature that was advancing on him, it barely shrugged.

Harry backed up quickly, firing off two more spells before slipping on the slick floor and landing heavily. The wind was knocked out of him, and he groaned as he scrambled for the wand that had rolled from his hand. He blinked quickly, the darkness creeping along the edges of his vision as the foul thing moved closer and closer. His blood turned to ice within his veins, and his limbs began to tremble.

When the fear had almost paralysed him, a bright figure appeared at the far end of the carriage. It was hard to make out, but it seemed to look vaguely familiar – it was hard to tell, with his vision blurred and unfocused. The luminous figure leapt forward, howling viciously as it charged the dark creature.

Whatever it was, the terrifying creature in black screamed in agony as the creature of pure, brilliant white light collided bodily with it. The two swirled around one another for a moment, and all Harry could do was watch as they struggled – after a moment, the dark creature pulled away and dived out of the previously smashed window.

With whatever it was gone, Harry found his breathing easier, the fear in his gut leaving him, and his limbs ceased their trembling. He breathed out a sigh of relief as his vision cleared, and he found himself face-to-face with a glowing wolf.

It was beautiful, semi-transparent with wisps of brilliant white magic whipping back and forth, like its wind was caught in a breeze. He reached out a hand, palm out-stretched, and gasped as the wolf nuzzled into it – its nose was even a little damp.

Shockingly, amazingly, he _laughed_ ; the startled sound barking out in the silence of the corridor as students’ heads popped out from their compartment doors.

“ _Merlin_ , what’s that thing?”

“Is it Potter’s? He’s a wolf, right?”

“What _was_ that thing?”

“I want me Ma’!”

The wolf nuzzled his hand one more time and gave it a rough lick before fading away into nothing. Harry sat there, blinking dumbly as he tried to comprehend the spectre that had no doubt saved him. What had it been? Was it a manifestation of his Family Magic, or something else?

A shadow appeared before him, and a second later, Harry found himself staring into the familiar amber eyes of Moony, the flecks of gold glinting in the light as the overhead lights flickered to life.

“Remus?”

“Easy there, Harry – take it easy.” Remus muttered, cupping his face, and tilting it this way and that. A few moments later, Remus smiled at him and pulled him to his feet. “Are you alright? Does anything feel weak, or not quite right?”

“I-I’m fine, I think.” Harry frowned, swaying back and forth for a moment as Remus gripped his shoulders. “What was that thing?”

“A _Dementor_ – one of the guards of _Azkaban_.” Remus frowned, briefly bending down, and picking up his wand and handing it to him; he accepted it gratefully and slid it into his holster. “Nasty things, and you were lucky to have suffered only a mild exposure.”

“A mil- _Merlin_ , it was in there with Susan!” Harry gasped, pushing past his uncle, and rushing to the door of Susan’s compartment. There were the familiar faces of Earnest Macmillan, Eirene Taylor, and – he breathed out a sigh of relief – _Susan_ , huddled around the convulsing forms of Hannah Abbott and Blaise Zabini. “Are they alright?” He asked, blinking as his head swam for a moment as he fell against the doorframe.

“Harry!” Susan gasped, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong!”

Remus hurried into the compartment, shuffling past him, and knelt between the two students on the floor – the tip of his wand pressed lightly between their eyes as a soft, white glow pulsed rhythmically in short bursts. Once he had done that with Hannah, Remus shifted to do the same to Blaise – both students instantly falling still.

“Dementor exposure – they should go directly to the Hospital when we arrive at Hogwarts with the others.” Remus said, sliding his wand away.

“Others?” Eirene asked in a quiet voice, her eyes staring at Zabini’s still form, her hand gripping both his and Macmillan’s. “There were others like these two?”

“All along the train, I’m afraid – the Aurors and I drove them off; we’ll be safe now.”

“But what if they come back?” He asked, his voice tight, even as Remus glanced over his shoulder at him. “Oh, no fear of that, I’m sure – Dementors rarely return to where they’ve been driven away from. Enough of that, let’s get you back to your compartment.”

Remus offered a few quiet words to Susan and her friends as he got to his feet, and Harry stepped back enough to give him some room. Has the man stepped past him, Harry gave one final look at Susan, and asked, “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” She answered, smiling tightly. “Thanks, for distracting it.” Behind her, he spotted Bones balancing precariously on a small table attached to the wall, his wings fluttering in an attempt to stay upright.

“It was the least I could do.” He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” He added, pushing off from the doorframe.

“I will.” Susan nodded, both Earnest and Eirene smiling thankfully at him, though they still looked a little pale in the light of the compartment. He closed the door behind him, and turned to face Remus, who was looking at him, a slight frown tugging at his brow. “Everything okay?” He asked, groaning as his shoulder throbbed.

“Oh, no need to worry about me, Harry.” Remus sighed, waving his wand at his shoulder as he drew level. “Bit of bruising in the morning, I’m afraid.”

“I must’ve landed on it.” He muttered, rolling it carefully – thankfully, the ice had disappeared from the corridor; Remus’s doing, no doubt. “You said the Dementors were the guards of _Azkaban_ , right?” Remus nodded, slowly, his lips pursed. “What the _hell_ are they doing here?”

Remus sighed and stopped before his cabin door and rolled his jaw side to side absently. “They’re being used to find someone – someone very dangerous, and before you ask, _no_ , I won’t tell you who.”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, while Moony chuckled.

“You’re as curious as both your parents.” Remus smirked, placing a hand between his shoulder-blades as he continued to guide him back to his friends. “It was a brave thing you did, distracting that Dementor; you very well could have saved young Hannah’s life – she was the worst affected of the two.”

“ _Will_ she be alright?”

“After a night with Poppy and Andromeda, she’ll be as good as new.”

He blinked, his hand on the handle of the sliding door. “Andromeda?”

“Sirius didn’t tell you?” Remus hummed, innocently. “Andromeda will be working full-time at Hogwarts from now on – until you graduate, at least. Same as me.”

He grinned before throwing his arms around Remus’s shoulders; to know that Remus would be at the school all-year-round had been the best news he’d received in ages, and had been welcome during the crisis with Ruhxu, but to hear that _Andromeda_ would be there too?

“Come, your friends are probably anxious.” Remus smiled, patting his back gently, deftly avoiding his sore shoulder. Harry nodded and opened the sliding door, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of his friends.

Astoria was sound-asleep in Daphne’s arms, her hair tucked behind her ears, and her nose scrunched slightly – disturbed by the noise of the door most likely. Neville and Tracey were propped up against one another, both pale and looking thoroughly exhausted – Daphne didn’t look much better.

Hermione collided with him, her arms squeezing his sides painfully before she quickly pulled back, her eyes sweeping his face. “Are you alright? When the lights came back on, we looked out the door for you, but noticed you were with Remus, and we thought, well-“

“Rambling.” Harry grinned teasingly. “I’m fine, and Susan is too – Hannah Abbott and Blaise Zabini are going to need to see Madame Pomfrey. What about you lot, are you alright?”

“A little shaken up, but-“ Hermione gasped, stepping back from his quickly as she looked over his shoulder. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Professor Lupin!”

“Remus, Hermione – you’ve known me long enough, I think.” Remus chuckled from behind him, and Harry rolled his eyes again as he shuffled past the flustered Gryffindor. “My, you all look like you got quite the dose of exposure as well – let me help with that. Come, sit in a line – best leave Astoria where she is, Harry. Might do her some good too.”

Harry nodded, his hands falling back to his side as he sunk into the bench across from Neville. Hermione sat on the edge of the bench next to Daphne, between the Slytherin and the door – her leg bouncing anxiously. Like before, Remus muttered something beneath his breath, and pressed the tip of his wand to each of their foreheads – a brief flash of white light illuminating the room, and then he would move on to the next.

Remus stood with a grunt when it was all over and tucked away his wand – each of his friends looked much better than before. “You said others were affected, like Hannah and Blaise. Anyone we would know?” Harry asked, groaning as the compartment rocked gently – the train was moving again.

“I saw an Auror seeing to a pair of older Gryffindors earlier, but there’ll be others up and down the train, I’m sure. No doubt the Aurors are seeing to them as we speak.”

“Professor – what _was_ that thing?” Hermione asked, quickly hurrying to return to her spot next to Harry.

“A Dementor, a guard of _Azkaban_. Now, I’m sure you have _many_ questions, but I’m afraid I really must check the rest of the train and have a word with the driver.”

“Be careful, Moony.” Harry said, looking at Remus anxiously when the man was halfway through the door. Remus paused and offered a quick wink before setting off, making sure the door was closed before he did so.

His head fell against the back of the seat with a dull thud. _Gods_ , what a start to the year.

* * *

Their arrival at Hogwarts had been heralded by the flashing of white-blue forks of lightning, thunderous claps of thunder that seemed to shake the carriages they had rode in on, and the torrential downpour of rain.

If it hadn’t been for the Thestrals, which seemed entirely unconcerned by the weather and more than able to pull the carriages along the muddy path between the station and Hogwarts itself, he had no doubt that they’d all be stuck out there, soaked to the bone, instead of sat along the benches of the Great Hall.

High above, in the rafters of the large room, dark clouds roiled and flashed as they mimicked the sky outside, and floating above the tables, _just_ out of reach, were the hundreds of candles; their little flames dancing this way and that as they bobbed up and down.

He leaned against the wood of the table; his chin propped up on the heel of his palm as his eyes swept the Gryffindor table. Neville sat to his right, and Hermione to his left – across from him were Parvati, Lavender, and Lauren, all murmuring quietly with one another about the trouble on the train. Further up the table, to his right, he spotted Ron, Seamus, and Dean talking animatedly, and beyond _them_ were the Twins and the rest of the Gryffindor team.

Oliver was hunched forward, his face focused while he used his wand to demonstrate a Quidditch manoeuvre – no doubt he had a dozen strategies for this year’s season, though both Angelina and Katie were looking like they were paying attention, despite the best efforts of Fred and George.

To his left, where the younger years would sit, he spotted the familiar red hair of Ginny; she was paler than he remembered, or perhaps it was just the light of the Hall. She sat between Demelza and Colin, who, thankfully, didn’t have his camera.

On the far side of Hermione’s Dorm-mates, sat the Slytherin table, the green banner of the House hanging proudly. The flickering light of the candles caught the silver serpent, and for a split second, he was reminded of Ruhxu’s mounted skull in Arpton, with its bands of Mithril.

He dropped his gaze and met the eyes of Daphne – she was looking at him intently, her chin propped against her fist as she frowned at him. He blinked, confused, and realised she must have caught him staring at the banner above her; after everything at the end of the year, he couldn’t blame her for keeping an eye on him, _especially_ with the Dementor.

Tracey was seated next to her, rolling her eyes as Theodore Nott tried to talk to her – judging from the look on her face, whatever he was saying was less than impressive.

He’d never really considered Theodore before – he was the heir to House Nott, a Noble Family of some wealth and power within the Wizengamot, but in truth, he’d never spoken to him. He certainly _looked_ friendly enough – he looked handsome, and had black, messy hair; it actually reminded him of his own when it was short.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, his eyes raking the Ravenclaw table – Lilith Kullens was easy to spot, sat imperiously among Sue Li, Padma Patil, Lisa Turpin, and Isobel MacDougal. He briefly wondered what would become of their Parselmouth lessons this year – they’d been postponed over the summer break, but he’d heard nothing about it from either Sirius or Remus.

Susan was the last person he spotted, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Both Blaise and Hannah had been rushed to the hospital the moment they’d arrived at Hogsmeade Station, and he’d noticed a number of others that had been hurried away too.

He turned his attention to the head of the Great Hall. It had been changed – before, there had just been one single, long trestle table for all of the staff to sit at, with the Headmaster in the middle. Now, the platform was much higher, and tiered.

The top-most tier had Dumbledore’s gilded throne, and two chairs on either side; he _assumed_ for the Heads of House, though he couldn’t be sure – _Dumbledore_ was the only adult in the room, standing quite patiently at his podium, with his hands behind his back and an easy smile on his face.

Right below Dumbledore’s table, were three tables, each with eight chairs at each, and so it went for the rest of the tiers of seating until it reached the slightly raised dais where the Headmaster continued to watch over them.

Before the dais, settled at the foot of the gilded plinth, was the stool and the Sorting Hat – it looked just as ragged as it had the previous year.

He continued sweeping his eyes around the Hall, smiling briefly at the Gryffindor banner hanging proudly above their table. Hermione had been drawn into the conversation with her Dorm-mates, and Neville was happily chatting away with Steven Galeman.

Steven was on the heavier side, Harry thought, but was one of the easiest in all of Gryffindor to get along with. In fact, not once in both years had he heard anyone, not even those in the other Houses, say one disparaging thing about the boy.

A bang echoed across the room, followed by a golden flash of light. Harry peered around Neville, leaning back on the bench as he looked toward the Headmaster, who was holding his wand up in the air, gentle sparks trailing through the air and settling around him before fading away.

“Greetings, one and all to yet another year at Hogwarts. In just a moment, our newest students will enter through that door and will be sorted into their Houses, but before that, I would like to take this time to speak to you all.” The Headmaster said, his voice ringing out clearly in the sudden silence.

“It came to my attention last year, that there was a heinous case of _bullying_ within these halls. While at this school, the staff here are responsible for the safety of every single one of you – mentally, physically, and even emotionally.” Dumbledore’s eyes swept the room, and Harry shivered when they focused on him. “We failed.”

“What’s he talking about?” Neville whispered to him, glancing over his shoulder. Hermione made a shushing noise.

“Hence forth, let it be known that there will be a change at this school. Repeats of the last year will not be tolerated, and those that are found breaking the rules set forth by your Head of House will be punished most severely – do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore!” The entire Hall chanted, and Harry squirmed in his seat as a low rumble of murmuring filled the room. Before he could say anything, Dumbledore raised his arms, and the large doors opened.

Professor McGonagall stood there, a small army of first year students, staring with wide eyes, and open mouths standing just beyond the threshold as they gasped at the Great Hall. He could relate – when he’d first seen it, the Great Hall had felt like the most magical place in the world.

His eyes swept the faces of the younger children, and grinned when he saw Astoria in the crowd, her dark hair tied back in a high, loose ponytail – she grinned and waved at him excitedly. The trembling, timid girl that the Dementor had left in its wake had long-since disappeared. He waved back, offering her a quick thumbs up.

“What House do you think?” Neville muttered, gently nudging his side.

“Not a clue – Slytherin, maybe. Could you imagine Daphne’s face if she sorted in there?”

Neville snickered, and the two of them grinned over at Daphne, who was sat glaring at the two of them; Tracey at her side, a hand over her mouth as she tried not to laugh too.

The first student was called, and Harry tuned the process out – he was only interested in hearing where Astoria was going, after all. Behind him, Hufflepuff cheered, and the boy rushed to sit with his Housemates.

The process was slow, but Harry cheered when necessary, and clapped when he was supposed to. His stomach growled uncomfortably, and he winced.

“Greengrass, Astoria!” Professor McGonagall called, and Harry sat up, a hand on Neville’s shoulder as he strained to lean around him. Behind him, he could hear Hermione laughing to herself.

Astoria stumbled forward, her eyes wide, and her hair bobbing with each hurried step – her hands were clenched at her sides, but when she turned to sit on the stool, she had such a fierce look of determination on her face. McGonagall placed the hat on her head, almost swallowing it entirely, and Astoria went absolutely still. Harry held his breath.

“ _Gryffindor_!”

Harry leapt to his feet, cheering the loudest, and clapping proudly – Neville and Hermione were the next on their feet, and he laughed as Astoria practically threw the hat from her head and charged down the aisle towards him, grinning from ear-to-ear.

She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he stumbled back – if it hadn’t been for Hermione’s steadying hand, he was sure the two of them would have gone flying. He laughed as he patted her back and nodded thankfully at Neville as he shifted to make room for her.

“Daphne’s going to be miserable!” Neville laughed, and as they turned to glance at the Slytherin, neither of them could stop the laughter that was caused by the sight of Daphne with her head in her hands, and Tracey gently rubbing her back; her own grin and amusement when she looked at the four of them quite clear.

Astoria shuffled into the seat next to him, and gave Neville a quick hug – the Longbottom heir playfully tugging on one the loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Harry leaned over to Hermione. “You’ll have someone in Gryffindor other than Neville and me now.”

“Oh no, she’s all yours.” Hermione scoffed as the ceremony continued, the noise at the Gryffindor table thankfully quiet once again. “It’ll be nice to have another girl with us, though.”

“What do you mean? It’s been Neville and me as the only boys the entire time! We’ve been disgustingly outnumbered this entire time.”

She patted the back of his hand and pressed her lips together – something lodged itself in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Not when Daphne gets hold of me – she’ll flay me alive for making a Gryffindor out of her sister!” As he said the words, as intended as a joke as they were, a cold pit of dread filled his stomach, not dissimilar to the feeling the Dementor had inspired. “ _Merlin_ ,” He muttered. “She’d actually do it too.”

He glanced over to the Slytherin table, and physically flinched as he met Daphne’s cold glare. He swallowed nervously.

“Don’t worry.” Hermione said, nudging his shoulder. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad Slytherin.”

He narrowed his own eyes at the girl beside him. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sirius.”

“Kotak, Aahana!” Professor McGonagall called as he glanced back at the ceremony. A girl with light brown skin stepped forward; her black hair falling about her shoulders and trailing down to the middle of her back. She walked with her head held high, but he could see the nervous flexing of her fingers.

Like Astoria, when the hat went on her head, it threatened to swallow her whole. “ _Ravenclaw_!”

The girl hopped off the stool and grinned the whole way to the Ravenclaw table – Harry smiled as she immediately began talking with a few of the other fresh Ravenclaws.

He tuned the rest of the names out – Gryffindor received another seven first years after that, with the rest going to the other Houses. Unlike the other years, however, McGonagall didn’t immediately remove the hat and stool, causing him to frown.

“Now that the traditional Sorting is complete, I’m happy to announce the transfer of a new student – if you would please join the rest of us, Mister Griffin?” Professor McGonagall called, looking toward the door.

Harry blinked and spun in his seat – he’d completely forgotten about Cai! He watched as Cai stepped through the door calmly, his dark eyes sweeping the faces of everyone as they looked at him. There were murmurs at all the tables, from the girls in particular.

Cai nodded politely at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he might even go so far as to bow – though thankfully he didn’t. He smiled and gave an encouraging thumbs up.

The two of them had spoken a little after the meeting at Arpton – both Cai and his father had stayed the night at Arpton and had departed for their own lands shortly before they had returned to England. He found Cai to be pleasant company – the older boy had an easy charm about him, and a dry sense of humour that he could appreciate.

Unlike the first years, Cai sat on the stool confidently. When Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head, it had barely been there for a second when “ _Ravenclaw_!” was loudly proclaimed.

Cai grinned, his white teeth flashing to the delight of both Parvati and Lavender, and quickly hurried to the Ravenclaw table – Harry didn’t miss that Cai had positioned himself so that he faced his direction. He rolled his eyes with a smile and inclined his head as he clapped, silently congratulating his future Bannerman – Cai bowed his head in thanks, just before he was swept up in the congratulations of those around him.

Dumbledore’s voice rang out once again, and Harry turned to look at the Headmaster. “Welcome new students, welcome! Now, before we begin our magnificent feast, I’m sure our returning students have noticed the change in décor behind me.” The Headmaster gestured to the tiered seating behind him. “Please, join me in welcoming the staff of Hogwarts!”

The Headmaster began clapping, the rest of the Hall quickly following suit as a procession of professors of all ages – some looked freshly graduated, while others looked to be close to Dumbledore’s age, walked into the hall, each professor he recognised was leading a trio of unfamiliar faces.

He spotted Remus, who threw him a cheeky wink as he led a group of men along the aisle. The first was a broad, blonde man – the sides of his head were shaved, while the top was swept back, a finely trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face.

Behind the blonde man, was a tall, brown-skinned man with an angular face and thick, dark hair – unlike the man before him, this man had dark stubble running along his jaw.

The last in Remus’s entourage was the most intimidating – he was taller than the previous two, with white hair tied in a loose bun at the back of his head, and yellow eyes. Harry shivered as he felt the full weight of the man’s stare and breathed a sigh of relief when they passed.

Remus wasn’t the only familiar face – he also spotted Micca, his Parseltongue instructor, walking behind Professor Dots, and couldn’t help the enthusiastic cheer he gave as Hagrid passed; the large man grinning down at him from behind his thick, bushy beard.

Andromeda wasn’t among them. Had Remus been wrong?

Harry watched as they all shuffled to their seats and sat as one – Harry offering a quick wave to Remus, who grinned at him. “Welcome, faculty, new and old. Let me just say, I look forward to seeing each of you pass your knowledge on to our students.” The Headmaster said, holding his hands out for quiet.

“Now, before we begin our feast and our minds become befuddled by tasty treats, I would like to say a few words. Professor Kettleburn, our _Care of Magical Creatures_ professor, has decided to retire, in order to spend some more time with his remaining limbs.”

A smattering of laughter danced around the hall, and Harry found himself chuckling along with them – the eccentric professor had always had some injury or another.

“Fortunately, I’m delighted to announce that his place will be taken, by none other, than our very own, Rubeus Hagrid!”

The Hall clapped their applause, Gryffindor the loudest, as the Headmaster gestured to the giant of a man, who stood awkwardly from his chair, looking rather flustered at the attention. Behind him, Hermione cheered – Hagrid had always been exceedingly kind and gentle in their classes, and Harry knew that the large man was her favourite, after McGonagall, of course.

Fred and George whistled loudly.

“As I’m sure a number of you are aware, our dear Madame Pomfrey is not with us tonight – but rest assured, she is still in the school; she, and the other Healers that have been brought on to help look after all of you, are currently in the Hospital Wing, making sure that your friends are all returned to you in the best of health.”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek. That made more sense.

“Finally, on a more disquieting note, following the tumultuous events that you all encountered on the train this evening, it is my duty to inform you all, that, at the request of the Ministry of Magic, until further notice, Hogwarts will play host to the Dementors of _Azkaban_.”

As panicked whispers erupted all around him, Harry scowled and looked to Remus, sharply, who nodded solemnly. If those _things_ were going to be at Hogwarts all year…

“The Dementors have been placed here in an attempt to capture a dangerous individual – who that individual is, neither I, nor the staff behind me, are at liberty to say. What I will say, is that the Dementors will be stationed at every entrance and exit to the grounds, and while I’ve been assured that their presence will not disrupt our day-to-day activities; a word of caution.”

Harry swallowed at the hard tone to the Headmaster’s voice – the deep, guttural moan of the Dementor echoing in his mind.

“Dementors are vicious beings; they will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way. Therefore, I must warn each and every one of you to give you no reason to harm you – it is not in the nature of a Dementor to be forgiving. As such, staff and Prefects will be monitoring curfew much closer, until such a time that the Dementors are removed from the grounds.”

Down the table, someone hissed a curse under their breath.

The Headmaster held a finger up in the air on each hand, his blue eyes peering over his half-moon spectacles. “But you know, happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times.” He paused, only long enough to wave a hand and extinguish a nearby candle. “If one only remembers, to turn on the light.” With a final wave of his hand, the candle re-lit, flaring far more brightly than before.

Dumbledore clapped his hands together and rubbed them quickly, and Harry found himself blinking, startled at the sudden noise. “Now, with that dreadful notice out of the way, why don’t we all cheer ourselves up with a wonderful feast!”

As the Headmaster lifted his arms, plates and dishes full of delicious foods appeared all along the table – at his side, tucked between himself and Neville, Astoria gasped and immediately launched herself at the food, grabbing a bit of everything as quickly as her hands could move.

Neville laughed, and Harry found himself glad for the sudden distraction – the news about the Dementors had shaken him, something he hadn’t realised until the food had arrived. He grinned as the smells of the various dishes wafted under his nose, and his mouth began to water instantly.

He felt terrible about not being able to eat any of it.

However, when he glanced down at his plate, any feeling of guilt over the food on the table was washed away at the sight of the roast dinner – it was chicken breast, crispy roast potatoes, roasted parsnips, carrots, peas, and sweetcorn, all covered in a generous helping of gravy.

Silently thanking Dobby, he picked up his knife and fork and dug in – the meat was deliciously moist and seasoned with a heady mix of herbs and spices that danced on the tip of his tongue. To his right, Astoria shoved a chicken kebab into her mouth, her hand gripping the base of the wooden stick like a sword.

“This is the best I’ve ever had!” Neville moaned around the mouthful of cottage pie.

“You say that _every_ time you have it!” Lavender cried, waving her fork in Neville’s direction from across the table.

“Because it’s the best!” Neville defended himself, and Harry chuckled quietly and shook his head as he looked to his left.

Like always, Hermione had chosen something that looked quite adventurous; a flat piece of bread, cut into triangles, coated in a tomato paste and golden, melted cheese. Little pieces of bacon, chicken, and peppers dotted the surface – he blinked at the look of joy and bliss on Hermione’s face as she took a bite.

“What’s that?” He asked with a wince – hoping his voice wasn’t as high-pitched as he thought it had sounded.

Hermione placed her fingers against her lips as she finished chewing, and swallowed quickly. “Pizza – do you want to try some?”

The conversation with his mother flashed in his mind – for a moment, he was back there, in her arms as she ran her fingers through his hair. He could remember her voice, and everything she’d said. He blinked, and the Great Hall rushed back into focus. “Pizza?”

“Yeah, have you never heard of it?” Hermione blinked, surprised.

“Once, but I’ve never tried it.”

“Oh, you _have_ to try some!” She gushed, nudging her plate toward him – he squirmed in his seat and chewed on the inside of his lip. “What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, noticing his discomfort – he smiled, despite himself.

“I’m not supposed to eat food prepared by Hogwarts anymore.” He admitted, quietly. “Dobby’s the one that looks after everything to do with me now. It’s the price of having a personal House Elf.”

He winced as her face fell.

“Oh – that makes sense, I guess.” She muttered, turning back to her plate – he nudged her shoulder gently; she looked at him.

“Tell me your favourite pizza, and I’ll let Dobby know tomorrow – you got it from that plate there, right?” He asked, pointing to a large plate just beyond his own reach. She nodded, smiling. “Well, I couldn’t eat all of that myself, could I? I’ll need help.”

“Well,” She said slowly, taking a small bite out of her slice and smiling at him lopsidedly. “I’m always happy to help you.”

Harry grinned, and shifted a little closer to the girl next to him as she began to list all the different types of pizza, those she liked, and those she didn’t. Perhaps, if the year were full of moments like these, the Dementors wouldn’t be such a problem after all.

* * *

The journey to the Gryffindor Common Room had been pleasantly subdued – his stomach was full, and his eyes had grown heavy as it settled into his gut; he was sure that, after the excitement of the day, if it hadn’t been for the need to trudge up all the stairs, he could have quite easily fallen asleep at the table.

Astoria, it seemed, had an endless supply of energy – latching onto his arm quickly and almost dragging him up the stairs behind her as they trailed in the wake of the Prefects, and their own Head Boy, Percy Weasley.

He’d had little to do with the most serious and studious of the Weasley brothers – Harry personally found him rather aloof, and noticed he kept himself apart from most of the House. Perhaps he just hadn’t seen it, but personally, he had no idea how _Percy_ had been made Head Boy; a small part of him pitied the Head Girl and the Prefects.

But, he would admit, it was entirely possible he’d simply gotten the wrong idea about the boy in the last two years. He’d be the first to admit that he didn’t know the boy beyond his name.

Behind him, Hermione yawned loudly as they trudged up the last staircase; he glanced over his shoulder and grinned at her – quite maturely, she stuck her tongue out at him, which set Neville off in a quiet chorus of chuckles.

“We’re almost there, Harry!” Astoria groaned, tugging on his arm again. He rolled his eyes and hurried up the last two steps – a small crowd had gathered before the portrait of the Fat Lady, hissing the password exasperatedly.

It was hard to see or hear what was being said, behind the crowd of bodies, though he did catch Seamus’s voice amongst it all. After a moment, the portrait swung open, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as Astoria hurried through, vibrating with excited energy as she spun on the spot, taking the whole room in.

“This is amazing!” She gushed as he stepped up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her in place. “It’s so big!”

“It feels a lot smaller when everyone’s in here.” Neville muttered, appearing at his side and pointing to their little alcove in the far corner. “See that table over there? That’s ours – you can always come and sit with us.”

Astoria nodded rapidly, her hair bobbing up and down, and her excited grin was infectious. Off to the side, the Prefects were explaining the Dorm rules to the new students; he gently guided Astoria to her year-mates before flopping into a nearby chair, Hermione and Neville slumping into a couch across from him.

The room was loud, though many of the older students were disappearing up into their rooms – he caught sight of Ron, Seamus, and Dean laughing on their way up the stairs. Lavender, Parvati, and Lauren hurried up the opposite flight – though he thought it more accurate to say that Calvert stomped up the steps.

“It’s good to be back.” Hermione hummed, hugging a crimson cushion with golden tassels around the edge to her chest. “I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it.”

“Long Valley Keep’s too empty for my liking.” Neville agreed, kicking his feet out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “It’s too quiet.”

“It’s a castle – if it were noisy, there’d be something wrong, don’t you think?” Harry pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Neville rolled his eyes and tossed his own pillow, which Harry snatched out the air, laughing.

“Stop being an arse – you know what I mean.”

“I’m surrounded by children.” Hermione sighed, dejectedly.

“You’re the same age as us.” Neville pointed out, and Harry looked at her, bemused.

She sniffed and held her nose a little higher. “I’ll have you know I’m the oldest – I’ll be fourteen in a few weeks.”

“At least I’m not the youngest anymore.” He scoffed, turning to glance at Astoria, who was slowly making her way over to them – many of the first years scurried up the stairs to their rooms. “You look nervous.” He said when she was close enough.

Astoria wrung her hands, her fingers wrapping around themselves as she shifted from foot to foot. “Do you think Daphne will be upset? She didn’t look too happy.”

“I think she’s just annoyed at Harry.” Hermione grinned, patting the cushion between herself and Neville – Astoria flopped into it heavily, her feet kicking absently. “I bet she thinks Harry corrupted her little sister.”

“That’s not true – I’ve always been brave!”

“Don’t forget all those monsters you told me you beat.” Harry nodded. “All by yourself.”

“Here – want to know a secret?” Neville asked, nudging Astoria with his elbow. Astoria nodded quickly; her eyes wide. “I bet if she wasn’t in Slytherin, Daphne would’ve been put in Gryffindor too.”

Hermione snorted, and quickly put a hand over her mouth while her face turned red.

“See? Hermione thinks so too!” Harry laughed, getting to his feet – he ignored the glare from her and instead focused his eyes on Astoria. “Alright, I’m going to head up – make sure Clara and Hedwig haven’t destroyed my room.”

“I’ll make sure Astoria finds her room, and she knows where mine is, just in case.” Hermione smiled, wrapping an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. Neville got to his feet with a quick stretch, and the four of them made their way to the stairs. “Goodnight you two – and don’t stay up late like you did last year!”

“I promise nothing!” Neville called over his shoulder, already trudging up the stone steps. Harry rolled his eyes, but offered Hermione a smile, nonetheless. Just as he turned to Astoria, he felt her collide with his chest, and he chuckled as the two of them stumbled back a step.

“I’m so glad to be in Gryffindor with you, Harry.” She muttered into his shoulder. He patted her back and gave her a gentle squeeze before she let go.

“Me too – now, best not to keep Hermione waiting.” He said, winking cheekily at Hermione, who just rolled her eyes, even as her cheeks coloured again. “There’s a reason she’s the smartest.”

“It’s good that you finally admitted it.” Hermione smirked, folding her arms across her chest. “Personal growth, after all.”

He scoffed but waved at the two of them as he began to make his way up the stairs, offering a heartfelt goodnight as he went. He found the door to the shared common room easily, and stepped through, only to pause as he passed the threshold, his hand still on the doorknob.

Sitting with each of their Familiars, Dean, Seamus, and Ron, all sat around the small table in front of the fireplace. Across the room, Neville emerged with Trevor in his hand, and all the eyes in the room turned to him.

“Should I be worried?” He asked, watching them all warily.

Dean snorted and shook his head. “Nah – just thought we’d hang out in here for a bit. Want to join us?”

“Sure – want me to get Clara?”

“Definitely!” Seamus grinned, his hand running along the feathers of his Barn Owl, Ave.

He hurried across the room and threw open the door to his bedroom – everything was perfectly laid out; his armour sitting on the stand proudly, and his sword hanging on the wall, the pommel glinting in the low light.

He swept his eyes across the rest of the room – the tapestry hung proudly on the wall, and the portrait of Arpton sat next to it, the banners on the walls of the castle flapping proudly in the magical breeze. To his left, he saw the two perches – Hedwig’s was empty; no doubt having ventured out to hunt something, but Clara sat there, staring at him.

He shrugged his coat off and tossed it on the foot of the bed and held his arm out to the Phoenix – she took the invitation gladly, hopping onto his shoulder with a low trill of pleasure. Once she was settled, he eased his way out of the room, closed the door behind him, and shifted Clara to the arm of an empty, wing-backed chair. He settled into it after, and wasn’t at all surprised when she hopped into his lap.

“I still can’t believe it, you know.” Ron muttered, staring at the Phoenix. “A _bloody_ _Phoenix_!”

Clara stood a little taller and puffed out her chest at the Weasley boy, and Harry traced his fingertips lightly down the back of her neck. “She’s a handful.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes when she looked at him balefully. “But I wouldn’t have her any other way.”

“So, what did you two get up to over the summer?” Dean asked, ducking his head as his cat, Bishop, decided to jump on his shoulders. “Do anything fun?”

“Stayed around the Keep for the most part – went to Harry’s for his birthday, but that’s about it, unless you count the Wizengamot.” Neville shrugged, absently stroking the back of Trevor’s head.

“Nah, I’ve heard that’s _right_ dull!” Seamus moaned, leaning back into his chair. “Me Ma’ always listens to it each month. Can’t imagine why.”

“It’s not exactly exciting.” Harry grinned, glancing at Neville to his left. “Neville nearly fell asleep in the first session we went to.”

“Ye didn’t!” Seamus laughed, shifting in his seat. “That’s brilliant, mate.”

“What about you lot? Get up to much?” Harry asked, ignoring Neville’s glare.

“Not really.” Dean shrugged. “Mum took me and my sister to Alton Towers, but that was about it.”

Seamus stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand. “We went on ‘oliday in the caravan – somewhere just south of Derry. Met a nice lass while I was there.” He said, rather proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Get up to anything there?”

“Nah, just bike rides and stuff – went to the beach a bit too.”

Harry glanced at Ron, who was resting his arms on his knees, holding Scabbers between his hands – a cold shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the rat with the tufty ears; there was something about the way Scabbers always looked at him that made him uncomfortable. It was a stupid feeling, because he was just a rat, but still…

“We went to Egypt, to visit my brother Bill – he’s the oldest, and he’s a Curse Breaker for Gringotts! Uncle Thomas arranged for us all to go, and it was great! We saw the pyramids, Bill showed us a tomb he’d cleared, and the food was _great_!”

“Of course he’d be most excited about the food.” Dean snorted. “Did you even stop to breathe during the feast?”

“I’m a growing boy!” Ron defended himself, grinning as they all laughed. Ron’s appetite was infamous, and he’d seen for himself just how much food the boy could put away.

“’Ere, what about all the new professors, ey?” Seamus grinned, sitting up. “Did ye see the one next to Professor Saller? The one with the dark hair?”

“Oh, yeah! I hope we get her for _Alchemy_. I bet she’s really good!” Dean snickered, wagging his eyebrows. Harry chuckled and scratched Clara under her chin; her wings twitched, and her eyes closed.

“Forget her, did you see the bloke with the white hair? He was _huge_!” Neville cried.

“The one Remus led in?” Harry asked, cocking his head to the side – he didn’t _think_ there were any others with white hair, but then, there had been _so many_. “Hair tied back in a knot?”

“Yeah, that’s the one – do you think he’ll be teaching _Defence_ too?”

“Who’s Remus?” Dean blinked, looking between the two of them.

Harry blushed and cleared his throat, while Neville snickered behind his hand. “Oh, sorry – I guess you’ll know him as Professor Lupin; he’s the Steward of House Black, but he was one of my dad’s friends. He’s basically my uncle.”

“My Dad knows him, I think.” Ron said, nodding slowly. “I’ve never seen him before, but Dad’s mentioned him once or twice.”

“He taught us before we came to Hogwarts.” Neville said, waving a finger between the two of them. “We’re hoping he teaches us, which, I reckon, is going to be a given.”

“Why do ye say that?” Seamus asked, confused.

“He’s here to watch over Harry.” Neville grinned, and Harry resisted the urge to sink into the chair. “To make sure he doesn’t almost get himself killed again, I guess.”

“It’s true then – you almost died fighting the Basilisk?” Dean gasped, his mouth hanging open.

Harry nodded, his hand drifting over the part of his arm the fang had punched through. “The tip of one of the fangs went through my arm. If it hadn’t been for Clara, I’d have died.”

“Clara?” Seamus frowned, and Harry noticed Ron paled.

“Phoenix tears can heal you, but it tires them out. The more they heal, the weaker they get – Clara almost forced herself into a Burning Day healing me.” Harry smiled sadly, running his fingers down Clara’s neck. “She’s fine now though.”

“Thanks, by the way – y’know, for everything.” Ron muttered, awkwardly. Harry just nodded and pressed his lips together tightly.

“Speaking of life and death situations,” Dean began, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Is it true you face off against a Dementor on the train?”

“You’ve heard about that already?” He gasped, blinking. He looked at Neville, who just shrugged sympathetically.

Seamus grinned. “Aye – saved Abbott and Zabini, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Harry grimaced. “I shot three spells at it, and it didn’t even flinch. Next thing I know, I’m on my back because of the ice, and there’s a white wolf chasing it off.”

“It was still brave.” Dean nodded, and Harry found himself smiling.

“Thanks.”

“Dumbledore said they were trying to capture someone, right? Must be pretty bad if they’ve set _them_ after ‘em.” Seamus muttered, visibly shivering. Harry didn’t blame him.

Ron shifted in his chair and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I heard there was a botched operation at the Ministry the other night – everyone’s been all in a tizz ever since. Overheard Dad talking to Mum about it.”

“What did you hear?” Dean asked, inching to the edge of his seat, still balancing his cat on his shoulders as he rubbed it behind the ears.

“I heard a name,” Ron swallowed nervously. “ _Fenrir Greyback_.”

Neville choked, and Harry’s hand stilled as his eyes went wide. “You’re saying they’re after _Greyback_?” He whispered.

“Who’s that?” Dean asked, confused. “Someone dangerous, I guess?”

“He’s the Ministry’s most wanted – they haven’t been able to catch him for _decades_. There was a big thing about him when we were… seven, right?” Harry frowned, glancing at Neville.

“Eight – Gran wouldn’t let me in the same room as the Prophet for the next month after that.”

Harry shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. “Did you hear anything else?” He asked, looking at Ron.

“Nah – just that there was a threat against someone.”

“ _Gods_ , what poor bastard pissed _Greyback_ off?” Neville muttered, the crackling of the fire the only answer to his question.


	44. Harry XXX

As Harry stepped into the Hospital Wing, he couldn’t help but grimace at the familiar smell of antiseptic and the tang of untold potions. It was bright, early morning, and most of the students and faculty were busy in the Great Hall, wolfing down what food they could before heading off to their first lessons.

He’d made an effort to get up before the rest of the students. He’d gone down to the Great Hall alone for the first time in, well, _ever_ , with a hastily written note to Hermione and Neville to look after Astoria while he wasn’t there – he had some business to take care of.

The Hall had been empty, save for two dozen staff and the three students that had crawled out of bed around the same time he had – all three were in the upper years of the school, and already had their noses buried in books as they spooned warm porridge into their mouths.

He’d paused only long enough to shovel two pieces of toast, with a thin helping of strawberry jam before hurrying over to Professor McGonagall, who’d been watching him from her seat next to Dumbledore’s throne with, what he could only assume, fond exasperation.

It had taken him only a few seconds to hurry up the steps to her seat and ask for his timetable – which had been handed to him with a certain look that he couldn’t quite decipher, even now. It had been somewhere between chiding and bemused,

He’d bowed politely and hurried from the room after that, rushing through the halls that were slowly beginning to fill up, toward the Hospital Wing, and, before he knew it, he was there – a little winded from his rush, but there, nonetheless.

Andromeda turned and regarded him with a fond smile, and he wasted no time at all in rushing to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and giving her a loving squeeze, just as she wrapped her arms around him. Her laugh echoed in the vaulted ceiling, and she leaned back, her hands gently cupping either side of his face as she swept her gaze over him.

“You’re up and about earlier than usual.” She said, one eyebrow curving elegantly. “You’re not up to some mischief, are you?”

“What gave you that idea?” He grinned, impishly. “Remus told me you were working here now.” He said, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Did he now? Well, I’d better not see you in here very often, is that understood?” She hummed, pursing her lips as she looked at him.

He grimaced, shifting on his feet. “Yes, Andromeda.” He muttered, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

She tapped him on the end of his nose, causing him to scrunch it up on reflex. “Good.” She smiled, slipping her arm around his shoulders as she guided him off to the side to a pair of chairs, intended for visitors, no doubt. “Now, why don’t you tell me what classes you have today, hm?”

He fumbled with the folded parchment in his hand as he sat down, his right leg bobbing up and down. “I have _Care of Familiars_ first thing with Hagrid… _Oh_ , I have double _Defence_ right after – do you think I’ve got Moony?”

Andromeda chuckled as she stroked the back of his head, her fingers combing through his loose locks. “Possibly – I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

Harry groaned, his eyes falling to the two classes in the afternoon. “I have _History_ and then _Potions_ – oh, _Gods_ , I have _Astronomy_ tonight as well!”

“You certainly have a full day, that’s for sure.” Andromeda chuckled, folding her legs as she sat back in the chair. “You make sure you get a good night’s sleep after _Astronomy_ – I know how grumpy you can be in a morning.”

“Not as grumpy as Dora.” He huffed, folding the parchment, and slipping it into an inside pocket in his coat.

“No, there’s none quite so grumpy as Nymphadora in the morning.” Andromeda hummed, smirking as her eyes took on a distant look. “You should’ve heard her as a baby – always crying when she woke up; it’s a wonder Ted and I ever got some sleep.”

Harry grinned as Andromeda bumped her shoulder into his, though his amusement faded into curiosity when another witch, with long, blonde hair that was pulled over one shoulder, a heart-shaped face with a mischievous, lopsided smile, walked down the centre-aisle between the beds, a clipboard and quill in hand.

She paused as she caught sight of the two of them – she flashed her teeth in a friendly smile as she walked over to them. Up close, he noticed her eyes were almond-shaped, and a curious mix of green and blue, framed by dark eyelashes. “Healer Tonks – I wasn’t expecting you in so early; and who might this young man be?” She asked, curiously.

“Healer Dew, meet my nephew, Harry Potter.” Andromeda said, inclining her head. Harry rushed to his feet and swallowed nervously, bow slightly at the waist.

“My, such a gentleman!” Healer Dew chuckled, placing her free hand over her heart, and sharing a conspiratorial wink with Andromeda behind him. “To think that Sirius Black had any hand in raising him…”

“You know Sirius?” He asked, dumbly, with wide eyes.

“Oh, _heavens_ , no!” Healer Dew tittered, her hand moving to cover her mouth. “Though, his reputation is known even to the likes of me.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Andromeda, who nodded her head slightly. “That makes sense.” He shrugged. “So, you work here as well?”

“Oh yes – there’s four of us now, your aunt, Madame Pomfrey, of course, then there’s me, and one more; Healer Worner, who will be on shift this afternoon.”

“That’s… more than I thought there would be.” He muttered, his brow creasing slightly.

“Yes, well, after the number of incidents in the last few years, the Board of Governors thought it best to have a few of us available at all times.” Andromeda hummed, pinning him with a look. He cringed and ducked his head before he could stop himself. “Speaking of, I heard that you had an encounter with a Dementor last night – why didn’t you come straight here?”

“Oh my, a Dementor? I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Healer Tonks – you should’ve been with the rest of the poor souls that were brought straight here.” Healer Dew sighed, placing her clipboard on the seat he’d vacated and whipping out her wand.

Harry’s eyes traced the movements she made – they were tight, and efficient, and only a heartbeat later, warm, orange mist swirled around him, dipping in and out of his skin at irregular intervals, leaving a strange, tingling sensation in its wake.

The magic continued to swirl, even as Andromeda moved to stand next to her colleague – Harry narrowed his eyes at the woman, though she paid it no mind. He fidgeted on the spot, biting back the urge to tell the two women that Remus hadn’t said anything about _him_ going to the Hospital Ward, and resisted the urge to heave a put-upon sigh. He felt completely fine – his limbs had felt a little sluggish as they got into the carriages last night, but after that, everything had been perfectly normal.

“I don’t see anything.” Healer Dew sighed, swiping the tip of her wand through the orange mist. “In the future, you make sure to come here if anything like that should happen again, okay?”

Harry nodded, his hands flexing open and closed at his sides before he clasped them at the small of his back. He glanced between the two Healers and nibbled his bottom lip. “How are the others doing?”

“They’ll all be set to leave in an hour or two.” Andromeda smiled, kindly. “It was a brave thing you did, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t do much.”

“I’ll get back to it and leave the two of you to the rest of your talk.” Healer Dew smiled, quickly picking her clipboard and quill back up and stepping back. “It was lovely to meet you, Harry, though I do hope we don’t see one another too often.”

“It was nice to meet you too.” He smiled, bowing slightly again. She offered a short wave before hurrying further into the Wing, where he could distantly hear the quiet murmur of voices – he glanced at Andromeda, who was looking at him with a smirk, her hazel eyes dancing in the early morning light. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Andromeda hummed, hooking her arm through his left and guiding him back toward the main aisle – further in, he could see Healer Dew at the foot of someone’s bed, and the partitions that separated the students from one another. It was all a lot more organised than he was used to seeing. “So, what brings you here so early, other than my company?”

“I came to check on someone.” He muttered, rolling his eyes as she pinned him with a look. “There’s a Lovegood in here.”

“Ah, Luna – delightful girl.” Andromeda nodded, coming to a stop. “She’s perfectly fine. Third bed on the right over there; I believe she already has one visitor this morning, but I don’t see the harm in letting you make sure she’s alright.”

“Thanks.” He breathed, wrapping his arms around Andromeda once again. The woman gave him one last squeeze before making a shooing motion with both of her hands. He nodded and hurried to the bed, clearing his throat at the partition, just in case. “Excuse me? Luna Lovegood?”

“It’s okay, I’m decent.” Came the airy, almost dream-like response. He pushed open the partition and stepped through – Luna was much the same as the previous year; a slight girl with pale skin and dirty-blonde hair that was splayed around her on the pillow like a halo. Her pale-silver eyes looked at him, and for a moment, he had to resist the urge to shiver beneath her gaze.

He tore his eyes away from Luna and inclined his head politely to the boy at her bedside – a Ravenclaw, dressed in the Muggle-born uniform and cloak with shoulder-length, straight black hair; his skin had a healthy tan, and his dark brown eyes were almost black.

“Hello, Harry.” Luna smiled, dreamily. “I was wondering when you would appear – did you have trouble with the Nargles again?”

“Nargles?” He blinked, quickly glancing at the boy at her side. “Uh, I don’t think so?”

“That’s good.” She sighed, pulling the quilt up to her chin, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Harry looked at the boy and offered his hand. “Sorry – I’m Harry Potter.”

“Arlo Reyes.” The boy replied with a thick American accent. “Second year with Luna.” Arlo added, hooking a thumb at the girl in question.

“Were you exposed to the Dementor too?”

Arlo shook his head and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “Nah – I’d gone to the bathroom. When I came back, the Auror had already run it off and was bringing this one back around.”

Harry’s eyes found Luna again, and he smiled to himself – Luna had her eyes open once again, and was looking mischievously between the two of them, her pale-silver eyes were almost glowing as the sunlight hit them, and her white teeth flashed as she settled her gaze upon him. “You seem to be better.”

“Better is a matter of perception.” Luna answered airily. “I’d feel _truly_ better if I could go and apologise to the Thestrals – they get awfully lonely, you see, out in the forest.”

“You see them too?” Harry blinked, his eyes flickering to Arlo briefly, who just looked confused.

“Since I was young – there’s a herd of them at Uncle Phon’s castle. He lets me feed them.”

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, swallowing.

“Oh, it’s really very alright.” She answered with a smile. “He’s really very worried about you, you know.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Phon.” Luna replied, shifting in the bed until she was sat up against her pillows; her hair fell in thick tresses down over her shoulders, and she linked her fingers together in her lap. “He says you almost gave him a heart attack this year, but he’s not really very upset about it – I’m not sure why; I’d be quite annoyed if my heart attacked me.”

He winced and shifted on the spot, ignoring the quiet snickering of Arlo. “Could you tell him I’m sorry? If you see him before I get chance to, I mean.”

“Of course.” Luna smiled, blinking slowly, and inclining her head. “You’re Lord Potter, after all. An important person.”

“Could you just call me Harry?”

Luna blinked and tipped her head to the side. “Are you _not_ Lord Potter? If not, it’s a very good disguise.”

“No, I _am_ , it’s just-“ He sighed and ran his hand down his face tiredly.

“A _Lord_?” Arlo hummed, arching a dark eyebrow. “Isn’t it a bit old fashioned?”

“A bit.” Harry mumbled with a blush. “Look – here, I’m Harry; _just_ Harry.”

“Very well, Just Harry.” Luna smiled, her eyes focusing on him with a strange intensity for a moment. “Your magic quite likes mine.”

He blinked, and immediately felt his magic stirring beneath his skin. It ebbed and flowed with a strangeness that disconcerted him – he couldn’t quite tell what was different, but the familiar feeling of it railing against his fierce control was… absent. “I hadn’t even noticed.” He muttered, flexing his hands as he stared at them. It… tickled.

“Most people don’t.” Luna answered, tipping her head to the side again. “Most people are content to ignore the things they don’t notice.”

“She… does this.” Arlo shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

“No, there’s no need to apologise.” He muttered, shaking himself physically. He cleared his throat, and ignored the tingling feeling running down his spine. “Well, seeing as you’re obviously alright, would the two of you like to join my friends and I for lunch?”

Arlo glanced at Luna, who nodded enthusiastically and clapped her hands. “I guess that settles it.” The boy grinned, nodding at Harry. “We’ll see you at lunch.”

“Brilliant – I’ll leave you two to it then. I’ll see you both later.” He smiled, ducking out of the partition. He shook himself again as the feeling of Luna’s magic danced along his spine – her magic was interesting; wild and free, but soothing and gentle at the same time. It was a strange paradox that, he thought, oddly suited the Ravenclaw girl.

He began making his way from the Hospital Wing and was just about to slip through the large doors when they opened and revealed Susan with a boy he recognised vaguely from the Wizengamot sessions. He was of Asian descent, with short, thick, messy black hair on the top of his head, and equally dark eyes. The boy was tall – almost the same size as Neville, and had a lean figure, even with his uniform on.

“Oh, Harry!” Susan gasped, holding a hand to her chest as she tucked her hair behind an ear. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He apologised. He looked at the boy. “I’m Harry.”

“Bushijima, Isao.” The boy smiled politely, bowing at the waist. “Please, call me Isao – I understand our names can be a little confusing.”

Harry blinked, and returned the bow. “I’ll call you by whatever you ask me to.” He replied, straightening himself. “Are you a friend of Susan’s?”

“I have that honour, yes. You’re her… cousin, correct? By marriage?” Isao frowned, tilting his head slightly, though the smile remained.

“Kind of – it’s a little complicated.” Susan grinned, nudging Harry’s elbow with her own. He returned the grin with one of his own.

“I see – I’ve seen you at the Wizengamot. My father speaks of your Lord Black very highly.”

“Bushijima… Your father is Lord Bushijima, correct?”

Isao nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Yes – we came from Japan. It took some time to get used to, but your country is _fascinating_ , and the people wonderful.”

“Thank you.” Harry said, glancing at Susan. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re here to check on your friends – I’ll let the two of you get to it. I’m sure Hannah’s looking forward to seeing you.”

The two of them nodded, and Harry smiled at the two of them as he stepped around them and headed through the door, the dull thud of it closing behind him echoing down the long corridor. He cast a quick _Tempus_ and frowned at the time – if he didn’t get a move on, he was going to be late for his first class.

* * *

Unlike the night before, the weather for their first day was bright, sunny, and warm enough that most of their class had shed their stuffy coats and heavy cloaks. Harry had been one of them, carefully draping the long, dragonhide coat over a nearby boulder.

Neville, like he, had also removed his coat, laying it over the top of his own, and offering a cheeky grin, and a pair of waggling eyebrows when Harry let out a huff of annoyance – if he got so much as a _crumb_ of soil somewhere in his coat, he was going to murder the boy.

The girls, strangely, opted to keep their outerwear on. Daphne didn’t seem the least bit bothered about the bulky, leather coat, while Tracey and Hermione looked as natural as ever – though, he thought, privately, that Hermione wore hers a little better.

His eyes had a habit of wandering towards his Gryffindor friend when she would fuss over Crookshanks, who seemed less than pleased to be out of the castle and away from the roaring fire of Gryffindor Tower, where Harry had caught him lounging on his way down to the Hall earlier.

There was an openness to Hermione when she fussed with Crookshanks that rarely showed itself – oh, he knew Hermione was always earnest in her dealings with him, and they’d never even had so much as a heated debate since the two of them had become friends, but there was something about her, in these quiet moments in class, where she just looked so… happy.

Perhaps happy wasn’t quite the right word – there was a joy to her face that he’d only really ever seen when she was in her element in the Library; the last time he’d seen it had been when they’d been in Madame Pince’s domain, researching the Founders before she’d been petrified.

He swallowed as the momentary memory of seeing her so incredibly still and pale, flashed before his eyes. His magic flared, and he clenched his fist quickly and grit his teeth. His chest tightened, and the muscles running up to his shoulder twitched uncomfortably.

Hagrid had set them all up at the edge of the forest for the day’s lesson, now that the Acromantula’s had been removed by the Ministry and Amelia. Beyond the far edge of the class, in a small clearing lit up by the warm rays of sunlight that peeked through the canopy, a fallen log exploded into splinters.

He blinked at the sudden noise and unclenched his fist and relaxed his body as the rest of the class gave startled yelps, and one girl shrieked – when he glanced over, he recognised the dark dreadlocks of Lisa Turpin as she dove behind Hagrid, her Diricawl Familiar hurrying after her, its pink and blue feathers fluttering at the sudden noise.

Hermione was at his side in a heartbeat, Crookshanks cradled to her chest as her eyes danced over his face – none of the class, except for his friends, seemed to have noticed it had been _him_. “What’s wrong?” She asked, settling on the log beside him, bumping her shoulder into his. On his other side, Clara fluttered her wings and gave a soft trill.

“Oh, nothing.” He shrugged, shaking his head at the looks from the other three. “I’m fine – just had a memory catch me by surprise, is all.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione hummed, her fingers scratching Crookshanks behind the ears absently – the Kneazle purring in pleasure.

“Yeah, I just need a minute.” Harry sighed, pressing his lips tightly together. His eyes dropped to the Kneazle. “What’s it like actually having a Familiar, then?”

“Oh, it’s _wonderful_!” She gushed, leaning back, and poking the mossy ground with the toe of her shoe. “I had no idea that it was like this for you, Clara, and Hedwig.”

“It takes some getting used to.” He nodded, picking at the bark between his legs idly as he squinted up at the canopy overhead. “It was the knowing where they were all the time that freaked me out to start with.”

“Oh, really? I’ve found it quite useful, myself.”

“Have you been on a hunt with him yet?” He asked, tossing the bark peeling to the ground between his boots. Hermione frowned, confused. “Dreamed you were hunting something – sometimes, you’ll wake up and taste blood on your tongue, or something.”

“Oh, I remember that from last year – I thought it was an exaggeration at the time, you know.” She grinned, leaning into him slightly. He chuckled and rolled his eyes – of course she did. “I’ve only had that once – just after I bought him; he’d caught a mouse. It was _horrible_.” She admitted with a shudder.

“It happens with Clara sometimes – my bond with her is stronger. She’s highly magical, and-” He paused, letting the Phoenix hop into his lap, stroking her under the chin. “Far too clever for her own good.”

“You’re really close.”

“She’s the reason I’m here.” He murmured as Clara rubbed her face against his cheek. Images of a cobbled road, with thick trees on either side flashed in his mind. A hooded figure on a log, men, and women in steel armour with crimson cloth – a woman, with dark hair and kind eyes, laying in the middle of the road, her remaining eye staring at him in shock as the rest of her skull lay strewn around her.

The feeling of someone grabbing him from behind, the cold steel pressed against his throat. The cry of the Phoenix as it forced its maturation; for _him_.

“It must’ve been awful, being down there – alone.”

He blinked, and it was gone. He sucked in a shuddering breath and pressed his lips tightly together. “Yeah, it was something.” He muttered, glancing at Hermione shyly. “Had to make sure you’d be alright, though.”

Hermione blushed and ducked her head, running the back of a finger down Crookshanks’ back, the low rumbling purr a reassuring sound in the ensuing, embarrassed, silence. He scowled to himself, focusing on the diligent task of running his own finger down the side of Clara’s neck, purposefully ignoring the distant sounds of battle, of spells flying over his head, the screams of the wounded as they lay in the dirt.

He wasn’t on that road – he was safe, at Hogwarts, sat on a fallen log, with his Phoenix in his lap, and Hermione sat next to him. He silently cursed himself; he hadn’t meant to say what he had, but the words had just tumbled out of his mouth, and now, _both_ of them were embarrassed.

“Hey, so-“

“I-“

He blushed again, looking away from Hermione, while she grinned – the pink in her cheeks making her look quite pretty. “Sorry,” He said, clearing his throat. “You go first.”

“I just wanted to say thanks.” She said, nudging him with her elbow. “You know, for, well, _everything_.”

“You don’t have to keep-“

“It’s not just about that.” She said, hurriedly, inching a little closer and casting a surreptitious eye at the rest of the class, who, thankfully, were all busy with their own Familiars; Hagrid seemed quite focused on urging Lilith’s black Jaguar down from its perch in the thick, upper branches of a nearby oak tree.

Harry frowned, confused.

“It’s for, well – for being _you_.” She mumbled, focusing her gaze on the Kneazle in her arms. “Ever since the bathroom… Well, you’ve been the best friend I could’ve asked for, so, I just wanted to say… _thanks_.”

“Oh. Well, it was my pleasure.” He replied, his voice just as soft. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yeah, me too.” She hummed, happily. “Oh, so why weren’t you at breakfast? Astoria really missed you.”

“I went to visit Luna Lovegood, in the Hospital – Andromeda is working there now; I think I mentioned it yesterday in the carriage from the station.”

“Oh, I remember – how is she?”

“Good, I guess. Bumped into Susan down there too – she had a friend with her; a Japanese boy, Isao Bushijima. He seemed nice. Luna’s friend Arlo seemed nice too. I invited Luna and her friend to have lunch with us.”

“Luna’s a… _Vassal_ to your family, right?”

“Vassal, Bannerman, the terms are interchangeable, but yeah. _Technically_ , her father should’ve been the Lord, but he passed it over to his younger brother.”

“It’s all incredibly confusing, and terribly medieval sometimes, you know.”

Harry laughed, startling Clara and Hermione. “I suppose it is. It’s not great by any stretch, but it’s the society we have, I guess.”

“Has nobody ever thought of bringing you into the modern world?” She asked, frowning in that way that he knew she was trying to work through a problem in her head.

“Once or twice – our world is…” He paused, pursing his lips as he searched for the right word. “ _Old_.”

“It just seems, I don’t know, _strange_ – like something out of one of my books. It’s like every day there’s something else that I don’t know, and it’s frustrating, because I have all of these _questions_ , and-“

“You make more of an effort than some people do.” Harry smiled. “My mother was Muggle-born; they say she was the smartest Witch of her year. I can’t imagine how surprised and _frustrated_ she must’ve been when she got her Hogwarts letter.”

“I think I’d have liked your mum.” Hermione sighed, leaning against him slightly – not much, but just enough that he could feel her hip and thigh against his own.

“I think she’d have liked you too.” He answered, quietly.

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugged, the left corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he glanced at her. “I just know.” He bumped her shoulder. “Besides, if _I_ like you, she’d have to. I’d give her no choice in the matter.” Harry sniffed, grinning as Hermione’s cheeks flushed red.

“Shut up.” She mumbled, though she continued to smile, as she nudged him back. “H-“

Whatever Hermione was about to say was cut off by the angry, shrill, chattering call of Merlin, Daphne’s Merlin Hawk Familiar – usually, he was a rather quiet creature, content to observe the goings-on around him from a distance, ideally from the top of a nearby tree.

Harry’s eyes darted to the source of the noise and widened considerably at the sight of the hawk diving toward Ron Weasley, who held his tufty-eared rat between his hands. Merlin collided with Ron in a flutter of powerful wings, the youngest of the Weasley boys was doubled over, his rat clutched to his chest as he cried out. Even from his spot next to Hermione, he could easily see how Merlin’s talons had shredded his white shirt, though, thankfully, the bird of prey hadn’t drawn any blood.

Daphne rushed over, quickly followed by Neville and Tracey, who tried to reign Merlin under control – it was unheard of, for a Familiar to lunge for another without provocation. Not even predator instincts were enough to get a Familiar to attack another; the only exception being when wizards and witches battled, and even then, Familiars were often left off of the battlefield.

Harry got to his feet, Clara swooping over and knocking Merlin out of the way when he evaded Daphne’s hands and went for another attempt, the hawk backing off at the sight of the Phoenix; Clara’s feathers shimmering with flames, and her onyx eyes as black as ever.

“Ron!” He called, jogging over to the boy. Seamus and Dean were huddled around him, concern etched into their faces. “Are you alright?”

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere?” Hagrid rumbled, his eyes wide and skin pale against his dark, bushy hair. Merlin found himself a low branch in one of the nearby trees, Clara settling next to him; her sharp talons in easy striking distance.

“That _bloody_ bird!” Ron yelled, rounding on Daphne, who blinked slowly, but otherwise remained impassive in the face of Ron’s anger. “Where do you get off ordering that _thing_ to attack me and Scabbers, eh?”

“I did no such thing, Weasley.” Daphne sighed; a single brow raised as she placed her hands on her hips.

“ _Bollocks_! Everyone knows Familiars don’t attack other Familiars – it was in the first bloody lesson, you stupid snake!”

“Careful, Ron – don’t say something stupid.” Neville said, stepping between the two of them, his voice low and warning.

“Well,” Daphne hummed, glancing at Tracey with a roll of her eyes. “Colour me surprised – Ronald _has_ learned something.”

“Daphne, that’s enough.” Harry said, stepping up to the group, Hermione at his side. He glanced at Ron – his face was deep crimson, the freckles on his face standing out harshly as he threatened to turn purple. “And _you_ need to calm down.”

“You’re taking _her_ side? You saw what it just tried to do!”

“I did, and right now, we don’t know _what_ happened, Ron.” He glanced at Hagrid. “Is there any reason a Familiar could attack another for no reason?”

“Not tha’ I could think of. I’d have to ‘ave a think about it, though.” Hagrid frowned, scratching the side of his face slowly.

“What about those of us with predators? Should we be worried?” Lilith asked, casting her gaze up at the Jaguar, who was still lazing the day away on the branch it had picked at the start of class, its paws dangling freely.

“No, everythin’ should be fine. I’ll talk to Professor Dumbledore – he’ll know what to do. Great man, he is. Great man.”

“We can look in the Library too.” Hermione offered, Crookshanks still cradled in her arms. Hagrid nodded, thankfully, and patted her shoulder as he walked by her, his gaze returning to the Jaguar.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Ron snapped, his eyes flickering between Daphne, who had stepped away with Tracey at her side, and Merlin, who was eyeing Clara nervously. “She should be bloody expelled for that!”

“Don’t be stupid, Ron – it was an accident.” Neville sighed, positioning himself between the two once again when Daphne spun to face the Gryffindor, a bored look on her face.

“He’s right – you and Scabbers are fine, and Daphne will make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Harry added, nodding at Daphne, who inclined her head. “Right, Daphne?”

“I’ll do my best, of course.” She said, casting her arctic eyes at Ron.

“Like I’d trust _her_.” Ron snapped, violently shrugging out of Dean and Seamus’s hands, and stomping over to pick up his cloak and bag. Moments later, he was gone, muttering loudly to himself as he stormed off toward the castle.

“Well, this is an _excellent_ start to the year.” Neville sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Bloody birds,” He said, wagging a finger at Harry. “ _this_ is why I have a toad – nice and simple.”

“Neville, if there’s one word to describe you,” Tracey called, “it would be simple!”

“Now hang on a bloody minute-“

The class rumbled with laughter, and Neville scrambled after a cackling Tracey, the argument quickly forgotten – but still, there was something in the back of his mind, just beyond reach that niggled at his thoughts. With a shrug, he set it aside and focused on enjoying the warm day with his class.

* * *

The classroom they’d been assigned for _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ was the same one they had studied in for the last two years. Waiting in the corridor had been a familiar chore, and many in the class had taken the opportunity to catch up with friends they had been separated from in the previous class.

With his friends around him, Harry couldn’t help but feel grateful that, so far, his little group of friends hadn’t been split up – something that had the distinct impression of Padfoot being up to his old tricks; not that he wasn’t grateful. A class without his friends would have been _agonisingly_ dull – although, he might be able to tolerate _Herbology_ if Neville wasn’t there.

He snorted, glancing at the boy to his right, who gave him a wary look in return. Harry shook his head and returned to resting against the cool stone behind him – his coat was bundled up and slung over the top of the satchel bag that hung from his shoulder. Hermione had finally caved and removed her own cloak, and Harry’s eyes had been drawn, completely against their will, to the grey cardigan she wore.

It fit her well, and he smiled to himself a little at how everything was in its correct place. Unlike most of the students in their year, whose uniforms were slipping in appearance – many of the boys having their shirts untucked, sleeves rolled up, and ties loose – Hermione’s was as proper as it had been in first year. Her collar was still done up to the top button, and her tie sat at the hollow of her neck in a perfect triangle.

Personally, he was a little jealous of the boys in the Muggle-born uniform – he couldn’t very well remove his doublet and go to class in the thin tunic he wore beneath it, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he had to settle for removing the coat whenever it became too stifling.

He blew out a breath through his nose and closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be long until the class opened, and he’d find out who his teacher for the year would be. Neville had his money on the large man with the white hair and yellow eyes – even now, there were a number of girls excitedly talking about him next to the door.

His eyes snapped open as the door clicked open, and he pushed off the wall to glance at the man within, grinning excitedly as he elbowed Neville and resisted the urge to run over to Remus and hug him. This year was going to be _brilliant_.

Remus ushered them all in with a wave of his hand, and a polite smile and nod to each student that entered, offering Harry a conspiratorial wink as he passed by. Neville grinned at him, and the two of them settled in at a desk on the third row, on the left side of the classroom – Harry took the seat next to the aisle, and Neville took the one closest to the tall window.

In front of the two of them, Tracey and Hermione slid into their own seats – Hermione opted to slide into the one next to the window, directly in front of Neville, and Tracey took the one in front of him. He glanced behind him and spotted Daphne settling in next to Padma Patil, Parvati’s sister from Ravenclaw.

On the far side of the room, he caught sight of Susan sitting with Hannah, surrounded by Blaise, Eirene, Earnest, and Oliver, though the Gryffindor looked a little put out at having been separated from his friends, none of whom appeared to be in the class.

Harry quickly pulled out his books, his inkpot, and dipping pen – silently cheering as he noticed Hermione retrieve the very one he’d gifted to her at Christmas. The sight of the gleaming Mithril had a few students around them looking twice, especially when one Ravenclaw recognised the metal, but it also served to remind him that he still had his gifts from Cochenwaith to give to his friends.

“Bloody Hell, Granger – where’d you get something like that?” Zacharias Smith asked, his blue eyes locked firmly on the dipping pen.

“It was a gift.” She answered, shortly, focusing her attention on arranging her desk.

“It’s got carvings on it.” A nearby Slytherin added; Pike Logg, one of Draco’s sycophants.

“Is that _Mithril_?” Terry Boot muttered, leaning across his desk. “You could buy an entire street for that.”

“Why’d _she_ get something like that?” Someone else asked, sneeringly.

“Alright, that’s enough, class. What Miss Granger chooses to write with is none of your concern, and should I hear another comment about it, or it reach me that the item in question has gone _missing_ , I’ll make sure the perpetrator faces the appropriate punishment – have I made myself clear?” Remus said over the noise, his voice gentle, but his amber eyes hard.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, her hair falling over her shoulder as she smiled at him – he smiled back. She hadn’t used it since he gave it to her, but knowing she was getting some use out of it, that she _liked_ it – his chest tightened again.

“Now that I have your attention, allow me to introduce myself. I’m your new teacher for this class, and my name is Professor Lupin.” Remus smiled, waving his wand as his name appeared on the board behind him. “Now, who can tell me what the third-year curriculum is for this class? Anyone?”

A hand went up on the far side of the room.

“Yes, Miss…?”

“Sue Li, Professor.” Sue said in her soft voice. Harry almost had to strain to hear her. “Third-year is all about dark creatures.”

“Excellent answer, Miss Li. Five points to Ravenclaw.” Remus grinned, clicking his fingers as he turned to the rest of the class. “Now, who in here has dealt with a dark creature before?”

All eyes turned to Harry, and he cringed as he shrunk in his seat.

Remus chuckled. “Ah, yes, well, we all know that Mister Potter has battled with the Basilisk in the last year, but are there any others in here?”

Another hand went up, this time in the row next to Harry’s own. The boy had straight, dark brown hair that was tousled stylishly, but still looked quite neat. “Graham Montague, Professor.” He said when Remus pointed to him. “My father got rid of a Boggart a week ago.”

“Brilliant, Mister Montague – five points to Slytherin.” Remus called, spinning, and flicking his wand at the board again where the word appeared. “We’ll be getting to Boggarts later in the year. Any others?”

Harry raised his hand and cleared his throat. “Dementors.”

A tense quiet fell on the classroom, and more than one student shuddered visibly at the word. The only sound was the gentle creaking of the rope that held the skeleton up above their heads as it gently swayed back and forth, casting long shadows around the room.

“Ah yes, I thought they might come up after yesterday.” Remus murmured, wetting his lips. Harry’s eyes watched him as he slowly meandered to stand before his desk, both of his hands resting on the varnished surface behind him. “Very well, why don’t we get this out of the way sooner, rather than later, and hopefully, I can put your minds at ease. I assume many of you have questions?”

Hermione’s hand shot up first, and Harry had to stifle the urge to chuckle, despite himself.

“Ah, Miss Granger.” Remus grinned, his eyes twinkling.

“What _are_ they?”

“Ah – now that’s possibly the most difficult question you could have asked, but nevertheless, I’ll endeavour to answer it for you.” Remus said, shifting his hands until they were clasped before him. “A Dementor is neither alive, nor dead. Neither are they creatures or beings – they simply, _are_.”

“But sir, how’s that right? Everything has to be alive or dead, right?” Shireen Hamell from Slytherin asked, shifting in her seat next to Seamus.

Remus pushed off from his desk and slowly made his way down the centre aisle of desks. “They are physical imprints of magic – Dementors were made in the thirteenth century by a Dark Wizard at the time, known only as Lord Azkaban. To this day, the Dementors remain tied to the ancient island fortress in the North Sea and are used as guards to our most secure prison – _Azkaban_.”

“That sounds _awful_.” He heard Hermione mutter, and around them, everyone nodded their heads. Everyone raised in the magical world knew just how _terrible_ Azkaban was as a prison sentence – it was often said that convicted criminals would beg for execution, rather than be sent there.

There were other, less severe prisons, of course – but the absolute _worst_ were sent to that place. That he knew Sirius had come remarkably close to being incarcerated there himself, was enough to make a chill run down his spine. It was said that few retained their sanity for more than a few weeks – to think that Sirius could have suffered as much…

“Can anyone hazard a guess as to _why_ Dementors are considered so terrible if they’re imprints of magic?” Remus asked, slowly pacing up and down the room between the aisles.

Susan raised her hand, slowly. “Something was done to them to make them so bad?”

“Excellent – five points to Hufflepuff, Miss Bones.” Remus nodded. “Indeed, they are considered foul because the very nature of those they are derived from, was twisted, warped, and corrupted to such a degree, that they became totally unrecognisable. Dementors will feed _only_ on humans; they were created by a wizard so terrible that the only name we now know him by, is that of the fortress he raised and waged war from.”

“How _do_ they feed?” Daphne asked, and Harry found himself frowning. The last thing he wanted to think about was how those awful things _ate_ – especially if his spells did little to stop them from approaching.

“Magic.” Remus answered, clicking his fingers. “I believe some of you in this room experienced that just last night when a dozen Dementors boarded the train. By chance, did some of you feel an inescapable sense of dread? The icy chill of pure, unadulterated fear?” Many, including himself, nodded. “ _That_ is the feeling of a Dementor feeding. They consume the magic that makes you who you are. When they have consumed _that_ , they perform something called _The Kiss_.”

“I’d rather not snog a Dementor.” Seamus muttered, staring at the wood of his desk, just loud enough to be heard by the class – a low rumble of awkward chuckling passed through the class.

“Indeed, and I wouldn’t blame you, Mister Finnegan.” Remus said, grinning at Seamus’s startled look. “Oh, I’ve heard much about you from my colleagues, my boy. I believe you have quite the gift with pyromancy, as unintended as it often is?”

“Yes Professor.” Seamus groaned, burying his face in his hands while those around him laughed at his expense.

“Not to worry, Mister Finnegan – but as I was saying, _The Kiss_ is the last, terrible act a Dementor performs on its victim. Nobody knows _what_ it does, but suffice to say, the common belief is that they consume the very soul of the victim.”

“And they’re guarding the _school_?” Neville growled. “What was the Ministry _thinking_?”

“I won’t claim to know all of the answers, nor will I give reasons for their actions. _However_ , the fact remains that the Dementors are, indeed, here, and will remain for as long as needed. Like the Headmaster said last night at the feast, I don’t want to hear of anyone going near the Dementors – is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor Lupin.” The entire class intoned, each of them glancing at those around them anxiously. Harry met Neville’s gaze and swallowed nervously, the weight of just it was he’d done, and how close he’d come to something terrible reverberating in his mind.

“Now, back to the topic at hand – Mister Potter, take five points for Gryffindor for your earlier answer. Anyone else? Yes, you in the back…”

* * *

 _Defence_ had passed quickly after that, and he had to give credit to Remus – the mood had quickly picked back up after the terrifying discussion about Dementors. Remus had kept the entire class engaged, and he had more than three whole sheets of notes for the assigned homework – an essay, only thirteen inches long, on how to counter a Grindylow.

They’d left the classroom in surprisingly high spirits, everyone talking about how excited they were for the next class – he’d stayed behind waiting for everyone but his friends to leave the room, before throwing his arms around Remus.

Remus had laughed, and asked if he’d done a good job, to which they’d all hurried to tell him just how brilliant his class had been – it was a far cry from the stuttering Quirrell, and the incompetent Lockhart; even now, almost a full year later, he still got nervous at the thought of any Cornish Pixies getting loose in the classroom again.

They’d left the room after that, Remus hurrying them out so he could go about some of his duties as a professor – apparently there were quite a few things they had to see to that the students never really saw – and hurried to the Great Hall.

The large room was abuzz with activity; students excitedly chatting about their morning classes – at the tables at the far end of the room, two dozen members of staff talked among themselves, while keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings-on of the Great Hall.

The five of them had quickly slid into their regular seats at the Gryffindor table once they’d spotted Astoria waving over to them excitedly. He’d heard Daphne’s quiet, pitiful groan, though his quiet snickering had instantly disappeared at her fierce glare.

He had taken a position between Astoria and Hermione – Neville relegating himself to a spot next to Tracey, the two of them butting elbows as they fought for space on the table; a pointless argument in his mind, for there was plenty of space on either side of their group.

They’d all listened to Astoria’s excitable retelling of her first mornings, and he’d apologised _profusely_ for missing her first breakfast, promising to make it up to her in the coming days, and even offering to have Clara join them sometime. The Phoenix had been starved for attention in _Care of Familiars_ , and even as he made the offer, he knew it was going to be a mistake.

Ten minutes after arriving, Luna and Arlo arrived – Luna was just as slight as she’d looked propped up in her bed earlier; she reminded him of a little doll, and Astoria had wasted absolutely _no_ time in asking why her eyes were so strange. A question that had mortified Daphne and caused him to quickly clamp a hand over Astoria’s mouth, even as she struggled against his grip and elbowed his sides.

Luna wasn’t at all bothered by it – thankfully – and Arlo had been more amused than anything, and they’d all quickly fallen into an easy conversation, especially once Astoria promised, quite sulkily, not to ask any more questions so thoughtlessly.

The most surprising thing about it all, had been the quick camaraderie that was struck up between Luna and Tracey – both girls having a love for animals and creatures of all sorts. Luna spoke of fantastical and wonderfully crafty beings, like Nargles, Wrackspurts, Blibbering Humdingers, Heliopaths, and a particularly enigmatic creature, the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

To Harry, it sounded like nothing more than made up creatures, and he heard the quiet murmuring of Hermione to his left as Luna described impossible creature after impossible creature and didn’t quite blame her. Hermione was a girl who believed in facts, in irrefutable proof that something existed – the fact that not a single one of these creatures was documented in any of her many, _many_ books no doubt rankled, and sat uneasily with her.

However, Tracey seemed truly captivated, explaining some of the many creatures she’d gotten to see in the various zoos she’d visited – she described just as many Muggle creatures as she did Magical, her face full of excitement and wonder; _especially_ when she went on to describe the dragon she loved so much.

Arlo, while more reserved than Luna appeared to be, was still a friendly person – he had a certain charm, and his thick accent was a pleasant change from the norm, though he’d be the first to admit there were some terms he was unfamiliar with.

It didn’t take long to realise that he was also rather intelligent, and had a remarkable curiosity about just how spells were made, and it wasn’t long until he, Hermione, and Daphne were swept up in a conversation about the applications of Arithmancy – a subject he understood the basic premise of, and could use with some degree of confidence, but unfortunately one he lacked the innate talent for.

Besides, he was much more happy throwing spells around than making them up from scratch.

The lunch hour progressed quickly, and before they knew it, the bell for the first of the afternoon classes rang – he had _History of Magic_. He bid Luna, Arlo, and Astoria goodbye, and joined the others in their trip up to the fourth floor.

By the time they arrived, the majority of the class was already there – he recognised Draco’s mop of platinum-blonde hair, and realised, for the first time, that it wasn’t slicked back like it had been for the two previous years.

Instead, it fell in a short, stylish centre-parting that ghosted the top of his sharp cheekbones. At his side, Pansy Parkinson clutched his arm and batted her eyelashes up at the boy, her voice thankfully lost in the din on the corridor.

He sighed as he leaned against the stone wall and looked at Hermione when she nudged him with her hip. “What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing the way she chewed on her bottom lip.

“I was just thinking – about how you rushed out against that Dementor. I just wanted to say, I’m glad you’re alright.”

He shrugged, but felt the heat rise in his cheeks regardless. “It all worked out fine. I don’t even know what it was that drove it off.”

“Still – I’m glad.” She said, smiling at him as the door opened and the rest of the class began filing in. Neville, Tracey, and Daphne led the way, and Harry stifled a yawn as he stepped over the threshold and into the room – he’d eaten far too much for his lunch, and it had settled into his stomach in the way that made his eyelids heavy, and made time go that little bit slower.

His eyes swept the room, even as he felt the mild annoyance at those that had pilfered the benches at the back of the room – their books already being used to prop their chins up as a chorus of yawns greeted him.

He followed after his friends, sliding into the benches in the middle of the room, this time finding himself, once again, sat next to Hermione, though this time he had Tracey on the bench to his left, who was sat with Daphne, while Neville was on the far bench, with Lavender Brown.

The noise of someone clearing their throat drew his eyes to the front of the room, where a middle-aged man with neatly combed, brown hair sat, perched on the edge of the desk. He wore a grey suit with a black bowtie, and a short beard, cropped close to his skin covered the bottom half of his face. Large, round glasses saw on the bridge of his nose, which he pushed up with a single finger.

“Welcome, class – I’m your professor for the year; Professor Harvey Grant. I hold qualifications in various histories, from various schools around the world. It’s a pleasure to be here, and I’m looking forward to seeing how each of you do in my class.” Professor Grant got to his feet and slowly, removed his glasses as he peered at the students in the room. Harry glanced at Hermione, raising an amused eyebrow at her look of joy. She blushed prettily and set about beginning her notes. “Now, our focus for this year will be on third century Britain, all the way up to the ninth – is there anyone in here without the required textbooks?”

The Professor looked around the room, and Harry looked around him – nobody raised a hand.

“Excellent – who in here can tell me what they know about Druids? Anyone?” Professor Grant asked. The room remained quiet as he slowly walked back and forth in front of the desks. “If you’re worried about offering incorrect answers, then don’t – we’re all here to learn. There might even be little things here and that that you know that I don’t. Don’t be shy.”

Across the room, Harry watched as Parvati slowly raised her hand, her face flushed.

“Ah, excellent, and you are?”

“Parvati Patil, Professor.” She said, glancing around her nervously. “Didn’t Druids make Stonehenge, or something?”

Professor Grant grinned handsomely, and he thought he heard Hermione sigh happily next to him – he glanced at her again and winced when she stepped on his foot beneath the table. “Very well done; yes, Stonehenge _was_ made by Druids, though we don’t know which order – that much has been lost to time. What is interesting, is that Stonehenge, and others like it, found all over Britain, have become visible to Muggles, while others have remained hidden, protected by their innate magic. Anyone else? Yes – you there.”

“Pansy Parkinson, Professor.” Pansy answered, airily. “Merlin was a Druid, right?”

“Excellent – _yes_ , Merlin was a Druid; though his _true_ name, from what we have gathered from historical references at the time was _Myrddin Emrys_ , or _Myrddin Wyllt_. Take ten points for Slytherin, Miss Parkinson – not many realise that, though he came much later than the third century, but we’ll get into all of that later in the year. Very well done, indeed.”

Harry scratched out the notes on his own parchment, his lips pressed tightly together as he focused on keeping the letters neat – the neater his notes, the more use he’d get out of them when it came to revising them at the end of the year.

“Now, a commonly missed subject, when we’re talking about the Druids, is the _Fae_ – tell me, are there any in this room that know anything about them, outside of the children’s books?”

Daphne’s hand shot up, an excited grin on her face, and Harry _barely_ held back the snort of amusement, instead, he quietly coughed into his fist while Hermione bumped his shin with the heel of her shoe.

“Daphne Greengrass, Professor. Nobody knows much of anything about the _Fae_ , only that they were around up until the seventh century, where they then suddenly disappeared from the world. There are references to the _Fae_ all over the world, but nobody knows what they looked like. The only human that is associated with them, was _Morgana_.”

“ _Very_ well done, Miss Greengrass – take ten points, yourself.” Professor Grant nodded, flicking his wand as the words appeared on the large blackboard. “There are a number of references to these enigmatic beings in a number of texts from prominent Druids at the time, some of them will be referenced in your textbooks; by our next class, I will want each of you to have read chapters one to three – understood?”

They all nodded, and Harry made a little note of the reading assignment on his parchment.

“Very well – now, there are a number of families, some still around and prominent in our culture today, that have been linked to the Druids and the _Fae_. Can anyone in here name any?”

“Lilith Kullens, Professor.” Lilith said, lowering her hand when Professor Grant pointed at her. “My own family, House Kullens rose to power in the third century.”

“This is true – can you tell the class _how_?”

Lilith’s head bobbed as she nodded. “Our House thrived on various trades at the time, the most notable being the breeding of magical creatures, and the acquisition of arable land. Without these trades, my House wouldn’t be in the position it is today.”

“Excellent answer. Now, does anyone know, besides Miss Kullens, of course, which Family House Kullens came to blows with in the third century? I’ll give you all a clue – they took part in the battle of Chiltern Hills.”

Neville raised his hand.

“Neville Longbottom, Professor. It was House Gryffindor, right?”

“ _Excellent_ – ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Longbottom!” Professor Grant called, clicking his fingers. “Many forget that House Gryffindor’s ancestral lands in Britain, bordered those of House Kullens in the South-East of England, _forgetting_ that, despite their name, they were _not_ a Welsh family. Now, for _forty_ points, can anyone tell me _why_ House Gryffindor and House Kullens went to war?”

Hannah Abbott’s hand rose in the front row, and Professor Grant pointed to her as he put his glasses back on his face. “Hannah Abbott, Professor. Didn’t a son of House Kullens defile a daughter of House Gryffindor?”

Murmurs broke out throughout the classroom, and Harry caught Lilith glaring daggers into the back of Hannah’s head.

“Close, but not quite right. Firstly, from sources at the time, we know it was in fact a son from House Gryffindor, and a daughter from House Kullens. We also know the two were engaged in an illicit affair that shamed both Houses equally – when the two families went to war, both involved were killed. Yonwin Gryffindor died in battle, and Hilda Kullens was murdered by her brother six months later.”

“Is that true?” Someone asked, their voice carrying in the ensuing silence of the room.

“It is.” Lilith answered, tightly – turning to glare in the direction of the voice. “My family aren’t the only ones like that.”

“Indeed, Miss Kullens – do you think you can name another family from the same period that have a similar history?”

“House Dumbledore.” Lilith sniffed, ignoring the cries of outrage around the room. Harry grimaced – House Dumbledore had a reputation for falling on either side of the coin; on the one side, there were some truly, _truly_ great men and women, and on the other, some wizards and witches that were best forgotten.

“Settle down, settle down!” Professor Grant called, raising his hands. “Yes, House Dumbledore has a varied past, and _this_ is why history is so important. It gets us _thinking_ , it gets us looking at the past and forming a picture of what life was like, what motivated people.” The professor said, tapping a finger to the side of his head. “There will be no greater story than our own history. Now, can anyone tell me why House Dumbledore is significant _today_?”

Harry raised his hand, and the professor pointed at him.

“Harry Potter, sir.” He winced as Professor Grant’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “House Dumbledore will go extinct in our lifetimes.”

“Correct! Ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter.” Professor Grant grinned, looking to the rest of the class. “We know from our own documents, managed independently from the Ministry of Magic, that there are two living descendants of the Dumbledore line – our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, the current head of the family, and his younger brother, Aberforth. Neither have children of their own. Furthermore, there are no cadet branches to inherit the name – the last having died out over a hundred years ago.”

“What happens to them when they’re gone?” Eirene asked from her spot next to Blaise in the front row.

“Their lands are divided up, as is their wealth, and taken into the control of the Ministry of Magic, often used to encourage new families to purchase the land, settle, and join the ranks of the Noble Families themselves.” Professor Grant sighed, perching himself against his desk once again. A moment later, Harry felt the eyes of the man on him. “Mister Potter, would you be able to share some of your family’s exploits from the period?”

All eyes in the room turned to him, including Hermione’s, and he found his cheeks heating, despite himself. “Yes, Professor.” He muttered, clearing his throat. “At the time, my family were one of the few whose lands were never conquered by the Romans.”

“ _Bollocks_!” Someone scoffed, causing Harry to scowl and straighten on reflex.

“ _Language_! Twenty points from Ravenclaw.” Professor Grant snapped. “Mister Potter is telling the truth – there are many records from the period corroborating his words. Would you mind, Mister Potter, if I expanded on a few points?”

“No, Professor.” He said, shrinking in his chair slightly. Hermione nudged his elbow and smiled when he looked at her.

Professor Grant nodded slowly and pushed off the desk, wandering back and forth slowly before the rows of desks. “Thank you. Now, it’s interesting that we have a member of the Potter family in our class for a few reasons – obviously, they’ve had a large impact on our _modern_ history, but they also have quite the fascinating _ancient_ history too! Very few families, after all, can claim they descend from _Kings_.”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands as Hermione gasped at his side – he could feel the eyes of the room on him, and he just wanted the floor to swallow him up. “Harry!” Hermione hissed. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“I’m not _bloody_ royalty!” He hissed back, wiping his hands down his face.

“King Harry!” Someone cried, and he shot them a glare.

“Now, now!” Professor Grant chuckled. “Young mister Potter, the future Lord of House Potter, is _no_ king, nor will he ever be one. At the time in question, House Potter were recognised kings over their domain in the north of Wales – however, they would surrender their crown in the coming centuries, and pledge fealty to another family, House-“

“ _Professor_.” He called, levelling a look at the man at the front of the classroom. “If we could move on?”

Professor Grant blinked owlishly before adopting a rather sheepish expression. “Ah, yes – my apologies, I tend to get a little caught up in it all at times. Back to House Potter – can anyone tell me _why_ they were able to amass so much land and power for themselves, _and_ defend themselves consistently from the Romans?”

Harry could feel Hermione’s curious look, but studiously ignored it, instead, focusing on writing his notes.

“Tracey Davis, Professor. They’re all secretly Werewolves.”

Harry genuinely laughed at that one, and a few others in the class joined in, and when he glanced at Tracey, he could see her impish grin across the aisle from him. He nodded at her, thankful, while the professor settled the class.

“While it would be amusing, there is no record of any from House Potter being infected with Lycanthropy. Does anyone else have any clue? No? Very well, the answer, like many you’ll find in history, is actually the simplest – House Potter has a reputation for being particularly adept at combat. A talent, I’ve heard, that our own Mister Potter inherited and put to good use in slaying the oldest ever recorded Basilisk.”

Harry groaned again, this time into the crook of his elbow. It was a quiet, pitiful sound, that only subsided at the feel of Hermione’s gentle hand on his back.

“A Basilisk, I understand, that was left behind by one of the Founders of Hogwarts, correct – Salazar Slytherin? Can anyone tell me anything they know about the man, or even his family? After all, House Slytherin were quite prominent during this time as well.”

“He was a Dark Wizard.” A Hufflepuff called out. “He was a Parselmouth, and he argued with Godric Gryffindor and was expelled from the school.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione snapped, causing him to raise his head from the desk. “Sorry, Professor.” She hurried to add, bowing her head slightly. Harry bumped his knee with her own.

“No, that’s perfectly fine – what’s your name, Miss…?”

“Granger, sir. Hermione Granger.”

“And why do you claim what this young man said is untrue?”

“Last year, my friends and I read the journals of the Founders in the Library when we were searching for the entrance to the _Chamber of Secrets_. There are accounts from Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff that talk about their argument – Godric Gryffindor drew his sword on Salazar after drinking too much. Salazar left the following day. Rowena was heartbroken over it.”

“Indeed – there’s a theory, among historians that study the period, that Salazar Slytherin was the father to Rowena’s daughter, Helena, but that’s neither here nor there. While we’re on the subject of Salazar, allow me to set one thing straight for everyone in this classroom – there is absolutely _no_ historical evidence that Salazar was a Dark Wizard. A dangerous, and powerful Wizard, yes, but _not_ a Dark Wizard.”

“But he was a Parselmouth!”

Harry stiffened, and he noticed Lilith doing the same. “Being a Parselmouth _isn’t_ a staple for being an evil bastard, Higgins!” Harry snapped, glaring at the Gryffindor. He continued to scowl at the boy until his fellow Gryffindor looked away.

“That was an interestingly uncommon opinion, Mister Potter – may I ask why you feel this way?”

“I’m a Parselmouth, Professor. It came out last year.”

“ _Fascinating_ – I assume you’re receiving instruction?”

“Yes, Professor, but you were talking about Salazar?”

“Oh, of course – my apologies! Yes, Salazar, as far as we are aware, wasn’t a Dark Wizard. Now, what else can anyone tell me about the Slytherin family?”

“Harry’s descended from them?” A Slytherin girl with short, blonde hair asked, timidly. Harry blinked, stupidly.

“Are you?” Hermione whispered, leaning into him.

“What? No!” He hissed back.

“What would make you say that, Miss…”

“Otoole. Amy Otoole.” The blonde girl said, shifting in her seat. “Well, last year, there were some messages painted in the corridors, going on about the _Heir of Slytherin_ – we all thought it was Harry, especially after the Parselmouth thing.”

“Ah. I see – I’m afraid I’m still quite unaware of a lot of the goings on in the last few years of the school, so you’ll forgive me if there’s gaps in my knowledge. Now, as I mentioned before, Salazar didn’t have any children _that we know of_. Additionally, Salazar was also the younger brother of the Lord Slytherin at the time; what the _Heir of Slytherin_ means, is anyone’s guess. _However_ , House Potter _never_ married into the Slytherin line. That much is clear from the records.”

Harry’s eyes swept across the room, taking in the reluctant nodding of many of his classmates, and stifled the urge to sigh.

“Now, seeing as we’ve gotten away from the topic at hand, can anyone name another family that was around during the third century? Yes – Miss Greengrass, was it?”

“House Black.”

“Excellent – ten points to Slytherin!” Professor Grant called, pointing to Daphne. “What can anyone tell me about House Black?”

“They were the main rivals to House Potter until recently.” Harry sighed, lowering his hand when the professor pointed at him. “The rivalry ended when my Grandmother, Dorea Black, married my Grandfather, Charlus Potter.”

“Very well done, Mister Potter – ten points! Yes, many attribute the healing of the divide between House Black and House Potter to the close friendship between the late James Potter, and his best friend, the current Lord Sirius Black – however, this isn’t true. It helped, certainly, but the foundation of that healed divide was Charlus and Dorea. However, that’s modern history – can anyone tell me anything they did, specifically, in the third century?”

Pansy’s hand went up again.

“They cemented their hold on the Midlands.” Draco said, in a rather bored voice that had Harry rolling his eyes.

“Your name?”

“Draco Malfoy, Professor.”

“Mister Malfoy is correct – House Black cemented their hold on the Midlands during this period, but can anyone tell me _how_ they managed it?”

Hannah raised her hand once again, and Professor Grant pointed at her. “Through combat? Like House Potter?”

“Yes and no.” Professor Grant said, flicking his wand at the blackboard again. “House Black, like House Potter, has a reputation for excelling in combat, but that’s where the similarities end. House Potter, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, Mister Potter, are historically, rather blunt and to the point. House Black, on the other hand, have cultivated a mean, cunning streak a mile wide.”

Harry snorted, and winced as Hermione’s heel caught his shin once again, though, she too, was smiling as she scribbled away at her page of parchment.

“What is the one thing that links all of these families together? Anyone?” Professor Grant asked, holding his arms out to his sides. When nobody answered him, he grinned. “Druids! Each and every single one of these families had extremely close ties to the Druids of Britain for hundreds of years until the practice fell away a little over a thousand years ago.”

Harry quickly made his notes, making sure to underscore the word _Druid_ to make sure he would be reminded later in the year. Just as he finished, the bell rang throughout the school, signalling the end of the class, making him blink in confusion – had it already been an hour? Surely not – as much as he loved his classes, _History of Magic_ had never gone so quickly before!

“Alright, everyone – that was a _wonderful_ first class, and I’m looking forward to seeing you again next time. Don’t forget, chapters one to three by the next class, and I’ll be in my office every day from three to six if you have any questions!” Professor Grant called over the din of everyone collecting their books and hurrying from the room.

Harry hurried to store his ink, dipping pen, parchment, and books in his satchel, and offered Hermione the last of her books on the desk as he slung his bag over his shoulder. She smiled at him, gratefully, and _somehow_ managed to squeeze it into her own.

They made their way to the front of the classroom and were just about to leave when the voice of Professor Grant brought him to an abrupt halt. “Mister Potter, a moment please.”

He nodded at his friends, who lingered by the door, and turned around to face the professor. “Sir?” He asked, noticing that everyone had left the room – the quiet click of the door behind him signalled the departure of his friends.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep during class today – I’m aware of the focus on your family, and I understand that talking of your ancestors might have been a little uncomfortable.”

Harry pressed his lips together and shifted his weight from foot-to-foot. “It’s fine, Professor. There were a few moments when I could’ve done without the attention, and I’m sure to get an earful from Hermione later for a few things, but really, it was fine.”

Professor Grant smiled and nodded. “Good. If there’s ever a time when it gets uncomfortable, especially when we start discussing the more modern history, you’ll make sure to let me know, won’t you?”

“I will, Professor.” He smiled, inclining his head slightly. “I really appreciate it.”

“Here – I’ll write you out a pass for your next lesson and save you getting a detention on your first day.” The professor said, scratching a few words out on a piece of nearby parchment he pilfered from his desk. “Here you are.”

Harry accepted the parchment gratefully. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Any time – now, get going; I have another class to teach, and you have one to get to.” Professor Grant smiled, shooing him out the door.

Harry hurried down the corridor, past the waiting sixth years, and broke into a slow jog down the stairs, which, thankfully, didn’t spontaneously decide to change direction. The corridors were empty, and so he found no further delay in making for the dungeons.

When he came into view of the classroom door, he paused and took a moment to even out his breathing: deep through the nose, and out through the mouth. With it back to something resembling normal, he eased the door open as quietly as he could and slipped through.

The room was immediately familiar, and he instantly cursed himself for not recognising it in the corridor. It was brighter than in the previous two years, and it was easy to spot the new desks, chairs, and all of the different ingredients of all shapes and sizes that sat in glass jars on the shelves on the far wall.

“Ah, Mister Potter – I suppose you believe you can turn up to my class whenever you feel like it, hm?” Professor Snape said, his voice deep, and dripping with barely concealed scorn. He fought the urge to glare at him.

“No, Professor. Professor Grant wanted to speak to me after class – he wrote me a note.” He said, instead, approaching the front of the class quickly and offering the piece of parchment to the Potions Master. Snape snatched it from his fingers and turned it over, his dark eyes sweeping the page with a suspicious look.

“Indeed. Take your seat, Mister Potter, so you stop holding up the lesson for everyone else.”

He hurried to the fifth row, jogging up the few stairs to the elevated row in the theory classroom, and quickly slid into the empty space Daphne had left for him. She shook her head at him, her dark curls bobbing left to right from the movement, even as she smirked fondly at him.

Harry rolled his eyes and hurried about getting his parchment and other supplies out of his bag as quickly and efficiently as he could. Below, in clear view of everyone in the class, Snape stepped up to the table in the middle of the room and tugged the cuffs of his long sleeves back.

“Today, we shall discuss the theory of antidotes for common poisons – turn to page twenty-one of your textbooks.”

He blew out a breath through his nose; as much as Hogwarts had changed over the summer, it seemed, plenty of it had stayed the same – including a greasy-haired, foul-tempered professor.


	45. Hermione V

The fourteenth of October was a Thursday, and as was to be expected of an October day in the Scottish Highlands, it was heralded by the clear sky, and cold light that filtered in through the castle’s many large windows.

The hallways were well-lit, and the chill was staved off by the magic within the castle. If she were to venture a look through the window in the girl’s bathroom that sat in the wall between the rows of cubicles, she might have seen some classes out and about, tending to magical plants and creatures – alas, instead she had resigned herself to staring at her reflection in the silver mirror, and silently listing all of the things she disliked about herself.

It was a terrible thing to do, and yet, she found herself doing it anyway. For once, nobody had made a snide comment under their breath, and nothing had really _prompted_ it – it just, sort of, well, _happened_.

She’d nipped to the bathroom in an effort to make herself more comfortable before the double lesson, and as she’d been washing her hands, she’d caught her reflection looking back at her. She wasn’t one for vanity, though, she would privately admit that she did so enjoy that feeling of girlish camaraderie with Daphne and Tracey every now and then.

As her thoughts drifted to the pair of beautiful, raven-haired Slytherins, she couldn’t help but feel rather lack-lustre in comparison. Her eyes were brown, not the ice-blue of Daphne’s, and her hair had only recently become manageable – and even then, it was never in a complicated up-do like Daphne preferred, and it didn’t have the same glossiness as Tracey’s.

Her jaw was sharp, and her features defined, but they lacked the sharpness of Daphne’s, or the natural coquettishness of Tracey’s. It was all rather frustrating. She’d even attempted a smile and had quickly clamped a hand over her mouth at the sight of her two large front teeth.

Hermione groaned as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the mirror, her lips pressed tightly together as her fingers gripped the basin. She counted to ten, and then to twenty, in an attempt to calm herself.

She was above such petty things – and had been for years. She was Hermione Granger – one of the two top students of her year, and a Witch. She was the first generation of her family to enter the magical world, and she had, simply put, the best friends that she could ask for.

Comparing herself to her friends was out of the question – both girls were beautiful, and while Hermione was often quite envious, neither flaunted their beauty, nor did they make any back-handed comments like the girls in her Primary School had.

When the two girls complimented her, it was genuine – she was sure of that much, at least. And the compliments weren’t limited to just Daphne and Tracey, either; both Neville and Harry were often very kind with their words – flattering, even if she _did_ think they were simply being polite.

Being complimented on her appearance was still a very new thing for her, and it had already taken _some_ getting used to – some days, she barely recognised herself, but on others… on others, all she could see was that knobbly-kneed little girl with bushy brown hair, and a pair of front teeth that were much too large.

Today was one of those days.

She sighed as she pushed away from the mirror and resisted the urge to run her fingers through her hair – it had been a nightmare to twist it into the knot at the back of her head that morning, and she’d be damned if she undid all of her hard work for the sake of her low self-esteem. Besides, she remembered, with a fond, private smile, Harry had said it had looked quite nice.

Now, _there_ was a boy that inflamed the best and worst parts of her. With every smile and every gentle touch, her heart would stutter in her chest, and she’d have to make a conscious effort to remember just how to breathe when he’d give her that mischievous smile, that, she would admit, showed all the influences of Sirius Black.

But he also stoked the worst of her self-doubt – or, rather, his attentions had _her_ doubting her own self-worth. It was all terribly confusing, and uncomfortably frustrating. Why did he compliment _her_? What made _her_ special? After all, she was just _Plain Granger_ , _Bugs Bunny_ , _Bushy Granger_.

She swallowed and met her own eyes in the mirror – perhaps it was the light, but for a moment, they looked dark, mysterious, and not at all the plain brown she usually saw. Her hair looked glossy, and undeniably full of volume, and her skin was smooth and without a single blemish, which was more than what could be said about half the girls in the school.

Maybe, _just maybe_ , that’s what Harry saw.

She hoped it was.

Her mind drifted to the raven-haired boy that she’d left with her bag down the corridor. She smiled shyly at herself as she thought of just how green his eyes were, and how pretty his hair was, and just how much he’d grown since that night when he’d gotten in her boat.

Back then, she’d thought him pretty, for a boy – someone who took care of themselves, rather than the _delinquents_ that had harassed her at school. He’d always smiled at her in their first classes, and then… then he’d saved her, like a knight from one of her stories.

After that, she’d been helpless against his impossible kindness, his witty sense of humour, and that mischievous glint in those _bloody_ eyes. Had she thought, at any point, that she would be in the girl’s bathroom, sighing over the thought of a _boy_? No – and she could imagine the disgusted look on her eleven-year-old face at the mere thought of it.

But Harry wasn’t like the other boys. He was, well, _Harry_.

It seemed that, whenever she attempted to distance herself from the tiny crush that had formed after the events of their first year, the more she felt drawn to him – an impossible force that she couldn’t deny, no matter how much she tried. It was bad enough that she could instantly pick him out of the crowd of Hogwarts students, and borderline _annoying_ that she couldn’t go a day without blushing around him, but… it was _nice_.

She sighed again – she really shouldn’t read as many romance novels as she did. She rolled her eyes at any thought of an ‘ _impossible force_ ’. Hermione Granger was a logical young woman, and she was above going stupid over a boy – no matter _how_ charming, and thoughtful, and kind, and funny…

Hermione groaned and pushed away from the sink, folding her arms as she paced anxiously down the aisle between the cubicles, her hand still clutching at her chest, her fingers curling around the cool metal that ghosted above her skin.

Huffing a breath, she quickly tugged her tie down and undid the top button of her blouse and reached for the thin metal chain around her neck – she really did try not to smile like she’d lost her mind, but, in her defence, it was an _impossible_ task.

She tugged it out and spun on her heel again, making her way back over to the mirror. It had been his gift to her for her fourteenth birthday – a beautiful, silver pendant of a wolf’s head with emerald eyes. It had tufts of exquisitely carved fur, and its mouth was open in a silent snarl as it stared, unblinkingly back at her.

Harry had given it to her after dragging her off into the castle, his hand wrapped around her wrist as he laughed with her – by the time they’d ended up at the edge of the Black Lake, beneath an old willow tree, they’d been out of breath, but it had been _wonderful_.

They’d sat there, shielded from the rest of the school by the long, drooping branches of the willow, and stared out at the lake before them – the Squid had waved at them, and a trio of Familiars had soared over the water, crying out softly to one another; meanwhile, they’d been sat, nestled in the roots of the tree, hips and knees pressed against one another.

He’d gone incredibly still, and before she knew it, he was holding the pendant before her, a nervous smile on his face. Harry had mumbled something about it originally being a bracelet, but in truth, she thought it _perfect_. She’d thrown her arms around his neck and _nuzzled_ the crook of his neck as tears trailed down her cheeks.

Even now, standing before the mirror, she couldn’t fight off the blush that swept over her face, even as she nibbled her bottom lip in her own private embarrassment.

She’d insisted that he be the one to put it on her, and he had – his fingers had been deft and nimble; only stumbling with the clasp once, and she’d not taken it off since. She had slept with it, showered with it, and ate with it – the cool metal a reassuring presence against her skin at all times.

Hermione was not a material girl by any means – she believed that it was the _thought_ that counted in gift-giving, and it was the people one surrounded themselves with that was what was important. Having said that, Harry’s gift had privately been her favourite, not just of the day, but ever.

She’d loved Neville’s gift, _The Ancient and Most Noble Histories of Magical Britain_ – especially after she’d found out that Harry’s ancestors had been _Kings_! _Bloody Kings_! What was she supposed to have done with _that_? She’d floundered for a few days, scouring the Library for anything she could find on the old families, and so Neville’s gift had been like a lifeline to her.

Tracey’s Kneazle-tree for Crookshanks had been wonderfully thoughtful – and while she enjoyed falling to sleep with the large feline, he shed like nothing else. If it weren’t for the House Elves, she was sure she’d be under a mountain of the stuff by now. It also gave him something to relax on and enjoy when she wasn’t in the Gryffindor Tower.

Daphne’s gift had been wonderfully thoughtful – a picture of them all at Harry’s birthday, framed in a simple, smooth wood that was painted black. The picture was magical, of course, and had been taken on the first of August, before they’d gone off to a stream Harry wanted to show them. That whole trip had been wonderful.

Not only had she been able to spend some time with her friends before she went on holiday to France, but, for the first time, she could tell that things had shifted.

She’d caught Harry looking at her more often, and there was always a strange expression on his face when he did so – at first, she’d thought she’d had something on her face, but then… the that tiny spark of hope had been ignited.

Hermione had always been aware that Harry was quite dim-witted when it came to girls. He never gave the appraising looks from their year-mates, and those in the year above them another thought, and acted as if they simply didn’t exist, which, as loath as she was to admit it, in _his_ mind, they probably didn’t.

The debacle of Valentines Day had almost crushed her, despite what Daphne and Tracey had said to her. Something had changed, and internally, she’d rejoiced. Maybe, _just maybe_ , there was a little bit of hope.

The gift around her neck certainly fuelled that hope, and the memory of his fingers ghosting over the back of her neck as he fastened it made goosebumps appear on the backs of her arms. She breathed in deeply and let out a quiet sigh, the smile still tugging on her lips as her hips slowly turned back and forth.

Yes, in the case of Harry Potter, she considered herself very much a lost cause.

“Hermione?” Someone called through the door – Daphne. Hermione’s eyes widened as she spun to face the large wooden door, the toe of her right foot catching an uneven tile, and she stumbled into one of the cubicle doors. Daphne opened the door at the commotion and rushed over to her – _thankfully_ , she hadn’t embarrassed herself by falling over. “ _Gods_ , are you alright? What’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, uh, well you see, I-“ She began, licking her lips as she looked at the Slytherin girl. “I was distracted.” She mumbled. “And you startled me.”

“What’s got you so distracted, hm?” Daphne smirked, sweeping her eyes over her. Hermione grimaced as her hand closed around the pendant against her own will, and she silently cursed her traitor body. “Oh, I see.” Daphne hummed, thoroughly amused. “Some _one_ has you all distracted.”

“Shut up.” She muttered, her hand unclenching as her fingers traced the pendant. “It’s just…”

“ _Harry_.” Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look – who else would give you a wolf with green eyes on a necklace. Honestly, why Arcturus ever though he might end up in Slytherin is beyond me.”

“Harry in Slytherin?” She asked, giggling as she covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “ _God_ , you’d eat him alive!”

Daphne hummed, and her blue eyes danced merrily. “Subtlety of a dragon, that one. Now, come on – _Professor Lupin_ sent me to find out where you were.”

“ _Oh no_!” Hermione cried, her eyes going wide. “How long was I in here?”

“Five minutes or so – not long. He just wanted to make sure you were alright.” Daphne shrugged, fastening her collar button, and straightening her tie. “Now, can I assume you got all dreamy-eyed about Harry? Okay, I’ll take _that_ particular look as a yes.”

Daphne ignored her glare.

“In that case, may I suggest…” Daphne muttered, undoing the top button of Hermione’s cardigan – her eyes went wide as she slapped the Slytherin girl’s hands away.

“Daphne!”

“What? He had you in here torturing yourself, right?” Daphne asked, raising a single, annoyingly elegant eyebrow. “Well, torture him back.” She said with a wink.

“I was _not_ torturing myself.” Hermione huffed.

“Right – like I don’t know you.” Daphne sighed with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not like we _all_ do the exact same thing, Granger.”

Hermione blinked. “You do?” She asked, dumbly. “Seriously? _You_?”

Daphne rolled her eyes again and placed a hand on her hip. “Yes, _even me_. Trust me, nobody is more critical of their appearance than me. We all do it – I know Harry and Neville do it all the time too.” Daphne leaned forward, a little grin on her lips. “Why do you think Harry’s hair is so pretty all the time?”

“I thought that was because of Sirius?”

“Harry _hated_ his hair before, even if everyone told him it was like his father’s.” Daphne shrugged, taking a step back and pulling her hair over a shoulder absently as she ran her fingers through it. “He’d always use the fringe to cover his scar, too.”

“I saw the pictures that Sirius showed off at Blackwall.” Hermione smiled, fondly, even as her eyes began to look through the girl in front of her.

“ _Gods_ , you really _are_ gone.”

“ _I am not_!” Hermione snapped, her hands resting on her hips as she fought the childish urge to stamp her foot.

“Come on, or we’ll be late.” Daphne said in a sing-song voice as she glided over to the door. Hermione blinked as she disappeared, her mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“ _Daphne_! Wait!” She called, hurrying after the Slytherin girl. The moment Hermione caught up with her, Daphne hooked her arm through Hermione’s and grinned at her; her white teeth flashing brilliantly in the warm light of the corridor. “ _Honestly_.” She huffed, eyeing the Greengrass Heiress.

“Oh, don’t act all put out.” Daphne mock-pouted. “It’s not a _bad_ thing, you know.” She said, quietly, as they passed a classroom – another of the _Defence_ rooms, and, from the brief glance she managed through the window, it was being taught by the blonde-haired professor with the slicked-back hair. “It’s… _nice_.”

“Nice.” Hermione deadpanned, turning to her friend, and levelling a look at her. “ _Really_?”

Daphne shrugged, the left corner of her mouth twitching upwards. “You’re the eloquent one, Granger. Besides, it is. If it’s any consolation, I think he’s just as gone on you – not that he knows it yet; he is a boy, after all.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. “He’s just being kind.”

Daphne came to a halt and held her wrist; Hermione looked at her, confused. “Okay, normally, _yes_ – I’ll admit, he’s uncommonly generous and, well, _bloody_ nice, _but_ he’s definitely been looking at you more since you woke up last year. Or are we forgetting that he was always sitting next to you when we were at Blackwall?”

“There were no other-“

“Is it true? What you told me about our first summer – did he really send you a letter with Clara?”

“What? Of course it’s true!” Hermione stammered, blinking confusedly. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

“I’m not calling you a liar.” Daphne sighed, her free hand returning to the hair draped over her shoulder. “Clara _never_ handles Harry’s mail – he tried to get her to send a letter after he first bonded with her; do you know what she did?”

Hermione shook her head.

“She set it on fire and had a strop for a week. Do you see what I’m getting at here?”

“Well, maybe Hedwig was busy, or…”

“Hermione, I love you, but _Merlin_ I wish you’d have some confidence in yourself sometimes.” Daphne sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “Look – I’ve known Harry, to my detriment, for years. I know him about as well as Neville, Sirius, and Remus. He’s a little slow on the uptake, but he’ll get it eventually; like we told you last year, you just have to give him a little nudge.”

Hermione felt her cheeks turn scarlet at Daphne’s wink, but found herself nodding regardless. There was a beat of silence before she blew out a breath and turned to take the last steps to the classroom, pointedly ignoring Daphne’s victorious grin. “ _Honestly_.” She muttered under her breath as she reached for the door.

Stepping into the classroom, she needed a moment to remember that she was, indeed, in the correct room. The tables and chairs were pushed to the sides of the room, and where Professor Lupin’s desk usually sat, a tall, ebony wardrobe with silver mirrors on its front was in its place, rattling violently.

Her eyes swept to the far side of the classroom, where her classmates were all standing, staring at it curiously; Parvati stumbled back a step as the piece of furniture rattled again. Professor Lupin glanced at her from his place behind the students, a kind, curious smile on his face. She smiled at him and hurried to join her friends.

She took up a spot between Harry and Tracey, pointedly ignoring Daphne’s cheeky grin, and Tracey’s bemused smile. Her two boys smiled at her, though Harry’s was a touch wider, and had the unfortunate side-effect of her knees feeling a touch wobbly.

Hermione smiled back, clasping her hands before her, her fingers wrapping themselves around one another as a sudden bout of nervousness overcame her.

“That’s a pretty necklace, Hermione – wonder who gave it to you.” Tracey whispered, leaning into her. Hermione’s eyes went wide, and her heart momentarily stopped as her hand darted to the pendant that she hadn’t tucked away. Tracey snickered quietly and hooked her arm through her own. “You know you’ll have to tell us all about it later on, right? Oh, and he’s _definitely_ noticed.”

Hermione chanced a glance at the boy beside her – he looked rather proud of himself. She felt her cheeks warm.

“Intriguing, isn’t it?” Professor Lupin began from the back of the class, his voice carrying clearly over the rattling wardrobe. “Would anyone like to venture a guess, as to what’s inside?”

There was a beat of silence, and Hermione took the opportunity to try and calm her racing thoughts. She lay the blame for her current state _entirely_ at the feet of Daphne Greengrass. She had been perfectly content tormenting herself in the girl’s bathroom – maybe she could find another excuse to return there.

No – she was Hermione Granger, top of the class, even if it was only barely, and she most certainly did not _skive_!

“That’s a Boggart, that is.” Dean said from the row in front, nodding his head at the wardrobe.

“Very good, Mister Thomas. Now can anyone tell me what a Boggart looks like?” Professor Lupin said, slowly making his way around the side of the assembled students.

“No-one knows.” She said, silently thanking her voice for remaining even. “Boggarts are shapeshifters; they take the shape of whatever a particular person fears the most. That’s what makes them so-“

“-terrifying, yes, yes, yes.” Professor Lupin finished, smiling at her as he made his way to the front of the class, placing himself between the wardrobe and the students.

“Way to go, Hermione.” Harry whispered, nudging her side with his elbow, and grinning at her. She blushed again – _Bloody Hell_!

“Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a Boggart.” The professor continued, glancing behind him as the wardrobe rocked violently once again. “Let’s practice it, shall we? Uh, without wands, please.” He said, holding a hand out as a few in the class went to retrieve their wands. “After me: _Riddikulus_!”

“ _Riddikulus_!” She chanted, with the rest of the class.

“Very good – a little louder, and _very_ clear. Listen: _Riddikulus_!”

“ _Riddikulus_!” She said, again.

“ _Very_ good. Now, so much for the easy part. You see, the incantation alone is not enough – what really finishes a Boggart is _laughter_. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing. Let me explain, uh, Mister Parker, would you come here for a moment, please?”

Hermione’s eyes swept to the lanky form of Oliver Parker, a fellow Gryffindor, and, like herself, a Muggle-born. He had short brown hair, and, as he was pushed to the front of the class by his friends, an incredibly pale pallor.

“Hello.” Professor Lupin smiled as Oliver shrugged off his friend’s hands and glared over his shoulder at them. “Now, Mister Parker – what frightens you most?”

Oliver mumbled something, but despite the silence in the room, she couldn’t quite strain her ears enough to hear just what it was.

“Sorry?”

“T-the dark.” Oliver repeated, a little louder as his voice cracked.

Around her, the class rumbled with quiet chuckles. “Mm, yes – it can be quite the frightening thing. I want you to picture something you find truly, _truly_ funny in your mind, and _only_ that – do you understand?”

“Does it have to be magical?” Oliver asked, shuffling side to side.

“Not at all – I believe you’re a Muggle-born, yes?” Oliver nodded, and Hermione found herself smiling slightly – it was always nice to be reminded that she wasn’t the only one. “The Boggart will take the form of whatever it is that you picture, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Oliver nodded again, pulling out his wand and levelling it at the wardrobe at Professor Lupin’s gentle instruction.

Hermione watched as Professor Lupin waved his hand, and the lock on the wardrobe clicked open. A quiet gasp escaped her as a black smoke flew out, engulfing the room. She felt Tracey tighten her hold on her right arm, and on sheer instinct, her left hand reached out and snatched Harry’s. Within seconds, the entire room was pitch black – it was so dark, she couldn’t even make out her nose.

“Go on, Mister Parker. One, two…”

“ _Riddikulus_!” Oliver called. The darkness instantly receded, and in its place was a little figure holding a lantern. He had a cherubic face, with a red, button nose, and large, wide ears. On the top of his head sat a pointed purple hat, while the rest of him was swamped in a garish green robe, cinched at the waist by a black belt with a brass buckle.

“ _Merlin_ , what’s _that_?”

“It’s hideous!”

“ _Gods_ , it’s smiling! Look, it only has one tooth!”

“Yes, yes, very good, Mister Parker. Very well done indeed.” Professor Lupin grinned, clapping happily as Oliver made his way back to his spot in the class. Around him, his friends playfully nudged him, and Hermione, being the Muggle-born she was, couldn’t contain her sudden fit of giggles.

“What _was_ that thing, Ollie?”

“A Dwarf from a film.”

“ _That_ was a Dwarf? It looked nothing like one!”

“Not an _actual_ Dwarf, you tit – from a Muggle film.”

“Oh… which one?”

“Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”

“What kind of name is _that_?”

“Oh, just forget it.”

By the time the short back and forth was over, Hermione had buried her face into Harry’s shoulder as her own trembled violently. Her stomach ached, and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks – she couldn’t help but giggle a little more at the confused looks her friends gave her. She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with the backs of her fingers before waving them off.

“Alright, everyone – form a line!” Professor Lupin called, stepping past the confused-looking Boggart and up to a gramophone she hadn’t noticed on one of the tables beneath the windows. Hermione shuffled into her place in the line just as the professor started the music, the quick, jazzy beat a pleasant backdrop to the class exercise.

Harry had mentioned that Remus had taught him before he’d come to Hogwarts – had this what his early education had looked like? It must have been _wonderful_!

“Next – Mister Weasley!”

Hermione peered around the queue of people and eyed the ginger hair of their fellow Gryffindor as he stumbled forward, his wand held tightly in his right hand. The Boggart regarded him carefully before transforming into a giant black spider.

Her hand leapt to her mouth in an instant as her eyes bugged. It was larger than a horse! It took a heavy step forward, its mandibles snapping threateningly even over the up-beat music. Ronald levelled his wand at the spider…

“Concentrate, Ron, _concentrate_!” Professor Lupin said.

“ _Riddikulus_!” Ronald called, just as the spider leapt forward. It crashed to the floor as its legs splayed outwards; roller-skates had appeared on the ends of its feet, the wheels still spinning as it struggled to get a leg beneath it. Hermione laughed with the rest of the class.

“ _Marvellous_! Absolutely, very, very enjoyable – Parvati!”

Parvati stepped up next, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with each step she took. In a moment of pure self-consciousness, Hermione’s hand gently touched the French Knot that her own hair was styled in before she dropped it with a huff.

There was a moment of silence as the Boggart regarded the Gryffindor Patil twin before it quickly transformed into a giant snake. Behind her, she heard Harry gasp, and she spun around with wide eyes to see him rubbing his forehead with a wince.

“It’s… _loud_.” He muttered, waving off her concern. She eyed him dubiously, but nodded, nonetheless.

“ _Riddikulus_!” Parvati called, just as she turned to look back at the snake. A heartbeat later, it was a giant Jack-In-The-Box, bobbing back and forth on a huge spring with its hands held up.

Tracey was next, having secured a spot in the line toward the front – Hermione watched as one of her two Slytherin friends walked forward with her head held high, and her wand already levelled at the creature before her.

A second later, it turned into the familiar form of Daphne, which had more than a few people whispering curiously. The faux-Daphne turned around and began walking back to the wardrobe.

“ _Riddikulus_!” Tracey called, the spell striking the Boggart in the back and sending it to the floor, sprawling. It got up in a huff, transformed, and spun on Tracey.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” It snapped, having transformed into Neville Longbottom.

The entire class laughed, and Hermione grinned at how red-faced the _actual_ Neville had become. Behind her, she could hear a pair of girls giggling excitedly, while the boys whistled excitedly. Harry quietly snickered behind her.

As Tracey retreated from the front of the class, Hermione levelled a look at her friend and wiggled her eyebrows. She wasn’t above revenge when it came to teasing, after all. Tracey rolled her eyes but grinned regardless.

As Tracey passed her, Hermione’s eyes travelled back to the front of the line where Lilith Kullens had stepped up to the creature. In a flash, a pair of men were there, dressed in fine, dark clothing. Their features were refined, despite the vicious sneers on both of their faces.

Both bore a striking resemblance to Lilith herself, and one was easily old enough to be her father – she assumed, then, the younger must be an older brother; she recalled Harry briefly mentioning Lilith telling him of her disdain for her family. Were these men her family? Her chest clenched uncomfortably.

“ _Riddikulus_!” Lilith called, viciously. In a flash, both men were in grass luau skirts and leis, arms and hips swinging in-time to unheard music, and the class erupted in laughter.

“Nice one, Lilith!” Someone called from the back.

“Your Dad’s got the legs for that skirt!”

Hermione nodded at the Ravenclaw girl as she passed and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. To have your worst fear be your own family… Hermione closed her eyes and shivered at the thought.

Neville was next, stepping up to the Boggart and levelling his wand at it – even from her position behind him, she could see the tense setting of his shoulders, and how he almost bounced on the balls of his feet.

The Boggart quickly transformed into a woman with dark, almost black hair in loose ringlets. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were wide as she grinned at the boy before her. Her clothing was also dark, with long sleeves and a skirt that flared at the waist.

“ _Andromeda_?” She heard Harry whisper in shock from behind before he gasped. “ _Oh, Merlin_!”

The woman cackled viciously as she wandered toward Neville, whose wand arm was trembling violently. She leaned forward and touched the tip of one of her fingers to the tip of Neville’s wand.

“Itty, bitty baby wants to play, eh?” The woman cooed, sickeningly. Her eyes went wide as Neville hissed something under his breath that Hermione couldn’t quite hear. “ _Oh_ , it’s _you_!” She cried with glee, spinning away with a twirl of her skirt. She paused as she looked over her shoulder and looked at Neville. “How’s Mum and Dad?”

“ _Riddikulus_!” Neville screamed, stomping forward. The spell struck the Boggart in the shoulder and sent it careening into the wardrobe, which was promptly knocked over. Hermione glanced at Professor Lupin, who looked rather pale and seemed to be pulling himself from his stunned stupor.

“Who was that?” Hermione whispered to Harry over her shoulder.

“Bellatrix LeStrange – she and a few others tortured Neville’s parents. Arcturus had her killed in _Azkaban_ only a few months later. She’s been dead for years.” She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched. “She’s Andromeda’s older sister.”

“That’s _awful_!” She gasped, clutching a hand to her chest. “Is he going to be alright?” She asked quietly as Neville stormed past them, his chest heaving and arms trembling.

Hermione’s eyes darted back to the wreckage of wood and splinters that had previously been the wardrobe. Bellatrix LeStrange was dressed up as a clown, complete with ridiculous face-paint, with her hair dyed an array of garish colours.

Daphne was next, her wand up and at the ready as Bellatrix made to storm after Neville, though she came up short when faced with the heiress. Bellatrix disappeared in a flash, and was quickly replaced by a struggling Astoria, bound by chains to the floor. With Daphne having stepped up for her turn, it left Hermione as the next student, but even as close as she was, she couldn’t make out the writing on the metal chains that Daphne seemed fixated on.

“Careful, Miss Greengrass.” Professor Lupin said, gently. “Remember what it is you’re facing.”

Daphne nodded almost imperceptibly. “ _Riddikulus_!” She called.

In an instant, the struggling form of Astoria stilled, the chains turning into a hundred or more brown leather leashes. On the other end of those leashes, were just as many copies of Astoria’s Familiar, Piper – all were yapping and bouncing excitedly.

“ _Merlin_ , he’s everywhere!” Harry groaned from behind her. “I thought the spell was supposed to make them _less_ terrifying.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, Potter.” Daphne smirked, striding by the two of them with a flick of her hair.

“Very well done, Miss Greengrass – though, I find myself in quiet agreement with Mister Potter.” Professor Lupin laughed, clapping his hands. “Hermione, up you come!”

Hermione nodded and blew out a steadying breath as she stepped up to the creature – it regarded her through the familiar eyes of Astoria before morphing into the towering, disgusting Mountain Troll of her first year.

Never in her life had she been struck so dumb by fear as she had that night – it had been gigantic and had seemed to fill the entire bathroom with its bulk. Behind her, she heard the faint curse that Harry let out, and, despite everything, she smiled. It had been _Harry_ that had saved her from the creature before her, and it had been _Harry_ that had protected her from everything since.

“ _Riddikulus_!” She said, making sure to pronounce the word correctly. The spell struck the Boggart in the chest, and a moment later, it was clumsily performing ballet moves in a frilly pink tutu; the classroom trembled as it performed a small leap, and she stumbled backwards and fell into the arms of the boy behind her.

Her face lit on fire as she scrambled from Harry’s grasp, smoothing down her skirt and cloak as she hurried off to the side of the classroom where the rest of her friends had congregated, her eyes fixed securely on the floorboards. Both Daphne and Tracey hooked their arms through each of Hermione’s own and grinned at her, the noses of both girls scrunching and the corners of their eyes crinkling.

“Oh, do shut up.” She muttered under her breath.

She looked up just in time to see Harry give a quick nod to Professor Lupin and step forward. The Boggart froze for a moment before shrinking to a familiar-looking man.

Hermione had thought, perhaps, it might take on the form of Ruhxu, the Basilisk, or perhaps the Troll. In all the excitement of the previous year, and the month and a half they’d been going through their current, she’d gotten so caught up in their adventures, she’d totally forgotten the defining moment of their first year.

Loud mutterings filled the room from the rest of their class.

Standing before them all, more confident than he ever had been in life, was the purple-robed, purple-turbaned Professor Quirrell. His face was set into a vicious sneer, and his eyes were flecked with the deepest red that she’d ever seen. Slowly, he raised his hands and began to unravel the turban.

Professor Lupin was there in an instant, leaping between the two of them with his arms out wide. The Boggart froze, mid-action and quickly transformed into a full moon behind a pair of dark clouds. Where Professor Lupin’s wand had come from, she couldn’t say, only that one moment the Boggart was a moon, and the next it was flying through the room like a balloon.

In the moments it was flying around Professor Lupin cast a quick spell at the wrecked wardrobe, and by the time the Boggart was heading in its direction, the wardrobe was fixed with its door wide open. Another flick of the professor’s wand, and the door slammed shut and locked with a loud click.

“Right, well, sorry about that.” Professor Lupin said, looking to the rest of the students in the class. “That’s enough for today – if you’d all like to collect your books from where you put them earlier, that’s the end of the lesson, thank you.”

Some of the students in the class groaned, moaning about not having a chance with the Boggart, while others were conspicuously subdued – no doubt wondering just what their own fears were. A heartbeat later, Hermione rushed toward Harry and wrapped her arms around him.

“Are you alright?” She asked, pulling back, and looking him over. “Oh, we should have known it might turn into something like V- _him_.” She said, quickly correcting herself as she darted a quick look to the retreating class. Despite the protests, not a single person argued over being let out early.

“I’m fine – I’m more worried about Neville.” Harry muttered, looking at the boy in question. Hermione released him and chewed on her bottom lip. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Neville grunted, folding his arms, and glaring at the wardrobe. “I got to send the bitch flying, at least.”

“It _was_ rather spectacular, if I do say so.” Daphne hummed, stepping up to the side of Neville and offering him a one-armed hug. “Mention this to anyone, Longbottom, and they’ll never find the body. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.” Neville muttered, swallowing audibly.

Neither Tracey, nor herself could contain their laughter, which served as an excellent way of breaking the tension that had fallen on the room, the other three quickly joining them.

“Are you both alright? Harry, Neville?” Professor Lupin said, stepping up to them and placing a hand on both the boy’s shoulders. When both nodded, Professor Lupin turned to Neville fully, while Hermione gently wrapped her fingers around Harry’s wrist. She smiled up at him when he turned to look at her.

“Neville, let me apologise _profusely_ for not stepping between yourself and that Boggart. I’m afraid I was struck by some quite uncomfortable memories from the war.”

“It’s alright.” Neville smiled, though, to Hermione, it looked a little weak. “Really – I just… I just wasn’t expecting her, is all.”

“We rarely expect our fears, I’m afraid.” Professor Lupin sighed, straightening himself and clapping Neville on the arm. “Come on, I’ve got just the thing to set you all back to rights.”

Hermione cocked her head as the professor flicked his wand into his hand and made a quick motion with his hand – instantly, the tables and chairs set themselves to rights, even flying around them as they made their way toward the curved staircase at the back of the room.

The five of them followed the professor up the stairs and stepped into his office quickly. Professor Lupin settled himself behind his large desk, while everyone settled down where they could. She and Harry slid into the small, two-seater leather sofa against the wall, next to the door; she took the cushion closest to the door, Neville perched himself on the arm on Harry’s side, while Daphne and Tracey settled into a pair of chairs at the desk.

Professor Lupin opened one of his top drawers and retrieved a small stack of chocolates, of all different colours and flavours. It took only a moment for the heady aroma to waft under her nose, causing her eyelids to flutter as she breathed in.

“You alright there, Hermione?” Neville asked, amused, as Daphne tossed him a bar.

“I’m fine.” She said, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“What flavour do you like best, Granger? There’s an _Aero_ , a _Yorkie_ , a _Milkybar_ , or plain _Dairy Milk_.” Tracey hummed, a _Milkybar_ held between her fingers.

“I’ll have the _Aero_ , please.” She smiled, catching it easily as Tracey tossed it. She glanced to her side and smiled as Harry opened his own _Aero_. Neville had a _Dairy Milk_ in hand, while Daphne was busy unwrapping a _Yorkie_. “I didn’t take you for a fan, Daphne.” She said, cocking an eyebrow at the Slytherin.

Daphne scoffed. “Because it says ‘ _Not for Girls_ ’? I thrive on shattering people’s expectations of me. Down with the Patriarchy.” She said, breaking the first chunk of the bar off and popping it in her mouth smugly.

“ _Vive la révolution_!” Hermione laughed, doing the same, Tracey echoing the call one last time as the boys and Professor Lupin chuckled. She leaned back against the cushion, savouring the mint-chocolate bar as it melted in her mouth.

She squirmed in her seat for a moment, shifting her weight side to side as she got comfortable – that the position she ended up settling on _just happened_ to be the one where she was leaning into Harry a little was simply a mere coincidence.

The five of them finished their bars quickly, and a moment later, Dobby appeared with a tray full of cool, refreshing drinks – she picked a goblet of chilled water and sighed as she took a sip. “Now that we’re all refreshed, why don’t we discuss the Erumpent in the room, hm?” Professor Lupin suggested, lacing his fingers together as he reclined in his chair. Dobby disappeared again once everyone had their drinks.

“ _Bollocks_.” She heard Harry mutter, and she gently slapped his closest thigh as she took another sip of her drink.

“I know you all know why that was Harry’s Boggart, and frankly, I should have known better. I had counted on it being the Basilisk, or the Mountain Troll, like yours, Miss Granger.”

“If it _had_ been the Basilisk, wouldn’t that have been worse?” Tracey frowned, setting her goblet down.

“Oh no – a Boggart possesses none of the unique traits of those it takes the form of. It wouldn’t have been able to cast any magic as Bellatrix, even if it _could_ get hold of a wand. Similarly, it wouldn’t have the same deadly stare as a Basilisk.”

“It could speak Parseltongue well enough.” Harry grunted, quietly.

“You mean when it was Miss Patil’s turn, I assume?”

“Aye – it was p-“ He paused, and she smiled as innocently as possible when he looked to her. He cleared his throat, and both Daphne and Tracey snickered behind their hands. “It was _vexed_. Had some choice words for you, by the way.”

Professor Lupin chuckled. “I’ll bet. As I’m sure you’re all aware of how quickly news travels within the castle, it’s my job to remind you, not as your professor, that you mustn’t let anyone know that Professor Quirrell played host to Voldemort in your first year.”

“Of course.” She nodded, while the others offered their own agreements, not that she thought any of them would do anything in any case.

“Good. Now, I believe, if you hurry to the Great Hall, you might just be able to beat the lunchtime rush – and Harry, please pass on my thanks to Dobby for his most excellent food. That pizza you suggested was _marvellous_.”

Beside her, Harry grinned and nudged her knee with her own, making her cheeks warm. “Oh, that was all Hermione – we had it on our first day. It was brilliant!”

“Well, credit where credit is due, Miss Granger.” Professor Lupin smiled. She returned the smile, somewhat shyly, and got to her feet with the rest of them. “Do enjoy your early lunch.” The professor called pleasantly, offering a wave as they filed out of the door.

“Harry, Neville, we’ll meet you downstairs.” Tracey said, the moment the door to the office closed behind them. On either side of her, the two Slytherin girls appeared, each hooking an arm through her own. “We have to have a talk with the lovely Miss Granger, don’t we Daphne?”

“We most certainly do. Run along, boys.”

“I think we just got told to piss off, Harry.” Neville muttered, glancing at Harry.

“I think we did.” Harry sighed, though there was that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. “We’ll see you girls down there. Come on, you.” He said, slinging an arm around Neville’s neck as they called their satchels to them.

Daphne and Tracey called their bags to them as well, Tracey slinging both hers and Hermione’s over her shoulder as they watched the boys disappear down the corridor. The second they went out of sight, Tracey stopped the three of them and darted in front of her, an excited look on her face as she clapped her hands. “You have until we get to the Hall, but you just _have_ to tell us everything!”

Hermione groaned as her head rolled back and she stared up at the ceiling. Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

A little over a week passed, and before she knew it, October twenty-third dawned. It was a chilly, overcast day, and all through the early morning, little snowflakes had wafted down from the heavens, though none lingered on the ground long enough to settle.

In truth, it was a day that Hermione had been rather looking forward to – it was the first Hogsmeade visit of the year.

Normally, Hogsmeade weekends began shortly after her birthday, in the waning days of September, however, with the presence of the Dementors, it had all been pushed back a month. It wasn’t _quite_ what she had in mind for her first weekend in the town, but she could make do.

She grinned excitedly as she hopped out of the carriage, the first of her friends to set foot in Hogsmeade and clapped her hands as she spun to face the bemused looks of Harry, Neville, Daphne, and Tracey.

Like her, all of them were bundled up warmly. Hermione had opted for a pair of warm jeans, tucked into a pair of ankle-boots her mother had bought her in the summer, a grey cashmere jumper, and her warmest, yet still flattering, coat. To finish it all off, she had her Gryffindor woolly hat on, with her hair framing her face, her Gryffindor scarf, pulled snuggly up to her chin, and matching Gryffindor gloves that were, simply put, _heavenly_.

Harry was the first to follow her out of the carriage, having sat between her and Neville. He was dressed in a knee-length grey doublet that ghosted over the tops of his black leather boots and was cinched at the waist with an equally dark belt. Around his shoulders sat his heavy cloak, the fur of the wolf pelt wafting in the breeze. His hair was half tied back, and already had the lightest dusting of snowflakes in it.

He squinted up at the overcast sky before looking back at her and grinning, his green eyes sparkling and bright against the pale skin of his face, and the darkness of his eyebrows and hair.

Neville was next out of the carriage, hopping onto the ground with a soft thump – like Harry, his hair was half tied back, and he wore a similar long doublet, though his was decidedly brown in colour, and complemented the tall belt around his waist; the roaring bear of House Longbottom roaring proudly. His cloak, much like Harry’s, sat on his shoulders, though it looked far thicker to her eye.

A soft gust of wind drifted by them, and she fought the urge to shiver as her hair flared behind her, and it caught the back of her neck. As she looked at the two boys, a brief pang of jealousy shot through her as she eyed the cloaks.

Tracey was next, rolling her eyes at Neville as he offered her his hand, though she took it anyway, even if she did flick him on the tip of his nose afterwards. Like Hermione, Tracey wore a pair of comfortable looking boots, though hers came a little higher than her own, and a pair of black jeans that hugged the shape of her legs. A beige jumper and a brown coat finished the look, with a Slytherin scarf and gloves. Unlike Hermione, Tracey wore her hair in a high, loose ponytail that wafted in the breeze.

Daphne was last, stepping from the carriage as if she owned it, and Hermione grinned at the sight. Like always, Daphne looked simply radiant; she wore a long, form-fitting shimmering black dress with a dark bodice. Around the high collar, short tufts of soft-looking fur ghosted the bottom of her jaw, and as she stepped onto the cobblestones, Hermione caught a brief glimpse of the heeled boots beneath the long skirt. Unlike Harry and Neville, her cloak was lighter, though she would hazard a guess that it was just as warm.

Like Hermione, Daphne’s hair was down, with only a simple braided crown, like the one she sometimes styled hers into, to keep it all under control.

Standing before her friends, despite her bubbling excitement, she couldn’t help but feel a little under-dressed.

“She’s practically bouncing on the spot.” Neville grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they moved away from the parked carriages. All around them, other students of all ages hurried past them in excited groups, though she saw just as many serious-faced professors, and even a number of red-robed Aurors.

“Oh, leave her alone, Longbottom. Who can blame her? We’ve been looking forward to this for _years_.” Tracey grinned, shoving the Longbottom heir away with her elbow before hooking her arm through Hermione’s, and resting her head on her shoulder.

“It’s been two.” Harry chuckled with a roll of his eyes.

“Exactly – that means _plural_.” Tracey grinned, releasing Hermione’s arm, and hurrying in front of their little group, her arms spread wide. “We’ve finally made it to Hogsmeade!” She laughed, gaily.

“Who do you think is more excited now?” Neville chuckled, causing Harry to snort. Hermione grinned at her friends, noticing how the tips of their noses had turned pink in the cold.

“Oh, Daphne. There’s no doubt.”

“Bite me, Potter.” Daphne muttered, wrapping her cloak around her a little tighter. “It’s too cold.” She harrumphed.

“This was your idea.” Neville said in a sing-song voice as they left the arrival area.

Hermione marvelled at the buildings as they stepped into the High Street. The buildings on either side of her were made of grey stone, and their roofs were tall and triangular. Stone benches punctuated the wide, cobblestone street, and the warm lights from the large shop windows cast wonderfully warm light on an otherwise frigid day.

“It’s-“ Tracey began, excitedly.

“-Beautiful!” Hermione breathed, grinning. “Oh, isn’t it _wonderful_?” She asked, turning to her friends. Harry looked bemused, though equally taken with the sight before them, and Neville seemed to be enjoying Daphne’s discomfort more than the magical view before them.

“So, what’s first?” Tracey asked, side-stepping enough for a small group of sixth year Ravenclaws to hurry past them, each of them whispering excitedly to one another among the hubbub of the street. “It’s only, what, ten?”

“Something like that.” Neville nodded, rubbing his arm with a wince after a quick slug from Daphne. “Anything anyone wants to do first?”

“Get out of the cold?” Daphne huffed, childishly. “Flay Longbottom, perhaps?”

“So mean.” Neville sighed with a despondent shake of his head. “Here, what happened to that boy that asked you out the other day?”

Daphne shrugged her shoulders. “Not a clue.” She paused and narrowed her eyes at Neville. “Why?” She asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, no reason.” Neville hummed, happily.

Hermione was just about to open her mouth to suggest they start their trip at _Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop_ – she’d heard _wonderful_ things about the quality of their parchment – when the familiar form of Professor Lupin appeared, adjusting the straps of his cloak.

“Ah, there you are – sorry about that; bit of a commotion at the carriages, I’m afraid.” He apologised, smiling. “Decided on your first stop yet?”

“Not yet.” Harry answered with a shrug. “Any suggestions?”

“Well, James and Sirius always enjoyed _Zonko’s_ , but I was always partial to _Honeydukes_ , myself.” Professor Lupin sighed, wistfully. His hands disappeared behind his cloak, though he didn’t seem too bothered by the cold.

Hermione shuffled her feet and chanced a glance around the street once more. She took in the warm shopfronts, tall, pointed roofs, and large grey bricks all over again, but her eyes began to trail over to the many, _many_ red-robed Aurors that were stationed all over the street. All had their wands in their hands, serious faces, and looked tense.

“Professor, why are there so many Aurors? It’s not usually like this, is it?” She asked, looking at the Professor again.

“For today, I insist on you all calling me Remus.” Professor – _Remus_ – said. “As for the Aurors, well, yes, you’re right in that it _is_ most unusual. I can’t say much as to why they are here, but I _will_ say that it’s simply for your protection.”

Hermione hadn’t missed the way his eyes had darted to Harry at that last bit. Was Harry in danger? _God_ , if he was in danger, _why_ had they even come here? He needed to get back to the castle, where it was safe, secure, and-

“Hermione?” Harry asked, looking at her curiously. “You’re making that face you do when you’re thinking too hard.”

“I do _not_ think too hard!” She huffed, glaring at him. Behind him, Neville snorted. “Something funny, _Neville_?”

“Definitely not!” Neville was quick to say, holding up his hands.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned to see Prof – _Remus_ – standing there, amusement written all over his face, while his other hand was on Harry’s back. “Come, why don’t we start at _Zonko’s_ – if for nothing other than it being the closest. I’m sure we could all do with getting out of the cold; Miss Greengrass especially.”

Daphne sniffed and lifted her chin as she swept past them in the most dignified hurry Hermione had ever witnessed. Tracey snickered and hooked her arm through Hermione’s before dragging her toward the store.

“Let the two of us handle Neville today – you just enjoy yourself.” Tracey whispered, leaning into her. Hermione blinked and looked at the raven-haired girl, whose hazel eyes were practically dancing.

“Huh?” She managed after a heartbeat; though she winced at how dumb she sounded to her own ears. “What do you mean?”

“You and Harry, _of course_!” Tracey answered with a roll of her eyes as she tugged on Hermione’s arm.

“What do you _mean_?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes. “There’s nothing going on.” She added, quickly glancing over her shoulder at the boy in question, who was a few steps behind, talking with Remus and Neville. She smiled, despite herself as he offered a little wave.

“ _Merlin_ , you’re a disaster.” Tracey huffed, stomping her way up the steps. “Neither of you are hardly subtle.”

“I got all of this from Daphne the other week, you know.” Hermione huffed, tugging her gloves off, and shoving them in her coat pockets. The shop was large, with shelves upon shelves of various goodies that were designed for all manner of pranks and mischief. She fought the urge to scrunch her nose at the sight.

“Oh, I know – she told me all about it.” Tracey hummed, hands in her pockets as she wandered into the store. Hermione’s eyes widened before she hurried after her, tightly wrapping her arm around her friend’s.

“Tell me what she told you. _Now_.” She demanded, a sickly-sweet smile on her lips – courtesy of Daphne, in first year. Honestly, the amount she’d learned from the two Slytherin girls terrified her at times; however, she wouldn’t be denied – not now, not when so much was on the line.

“Well, aren’t you just adorable when you try to be threatening.” Tracey laughed, stepping around a pair of Hufflepuff boys and sliding up to Daphne, who was peering into a glass case curiously. “Hermione here wants to know what you told me the other week.”

“Oh, I told her everything.” Daphne shrugged; her eyes focused on the glass.

“ _Daphne_!” She squeaked indignantly, stomping her foot.

“What?” She asked, looking at her finally, while Tracey laughed into the palm of her hand. “It’s hardly a secret.”

Hermione glared, and looked away with a huff. She released Tracey’s arm and crossed her arms over her chest, while her teeth worried at her bottom lip. “Is it really not a secret?” She asked, her voice quiet and timid.

“Not to us.” Tracey shrugged. “We haven’t heard anyone else talking about it though, and Neville’s too thick to cotton on just yet.”

“Neville is _not_ thick.” Hermione said, glaring at the girl. Tracey held her hands up in surrender, but snickered, nonetheless.

“He isn’t – just unobservant when it comes to these things. _Believe me_.” Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes as she stepped away from the case. “I’ll bet Sirius, Remus, and Amelia know, by the way.”

Her eyes flew open, and she spun on the spot, where she eyed Remus pointing out a few products to the boys; Harry, strangely, seemed particularly interested. “ _God_ , please tell me they don’t – that’s _so_ embarrassing!”

“At least you didn’t have them and your parents offering you as a bride to Harry.” Daphne shrugged, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her as a cold gust of air blew through the store as the door opened and closed.

“That’s _awful_.”

“That’s how it is.” Tracey hummed, picking up a spherical _thing_ that was clicking and whirring. “That’s how the old families have made alliances and the like for, well, _ever_. Nothing makes things more official than a wedding.”

“When would you have married?” Hermione blinked, looking at Daphne.

“Sixteen, probably. That when he comes into his title – at sixteen, Harry will be the most powerful wizard in Britain. Politically, I mean.”

“It’s a bit of a shit deal, if you ask me.” Tracey said, putting the product back on the shelf with pursed lips. “We won’t even be out of school then. Could you imagine having to get ready for N.E.W.Ts _and_ manage your estate and do your _Lordly_ duties?”

Hermione frowned, her eyes travelling back to the dark-haired boy across the shop, who was looking wide-eyed at something that Remus was talking quite animatedly about. For the first time, in, well, for as long as she could remember, she was struck by just how _young_ they all were.

“He won’t be alone, you know – Neville will be Lord at the same time.” Daphne said, glancing over her shoulder at the two of them when Hermione looked at her. “As crass as it is to say it, his parents are considered as good as dead as far as the Wizengamot is concerned.”

“That’s barbaric!” Hermione scowled, her hands clenching in her coat pockets. “Neville must feel terrible about it all.”

“He doesn’t really say, and we don’t really talk about it. He still visits them, you know. Augusta, his Gran, used to take him once a month – used to take them a box of his Dad’s favourite chocolates, but with school…” She trailed off as her fingers ghosted the surface of the display cabinet she was standing in front of. “Well, it’s not as often – I think that’s helped him a little, you know?”

“He’s more confident.” Tracey nodded, pressing her lips together. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Granger.” The girl grinned. “I enjoy getting a rise out of him, but I have _zero_ intention of becoming the next _Lady Longbottom_.” Tracey’s eyes danced as she tapped a finger to her lips. “Although Tracey _Potter_ has a certain ring to it.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at her friend as she felt her face flush from embarrassment.

“At least you’ll both have the same initials.” Daphne smirked, bumping her shoulder with her own.

“Shut up.” She mumbled, focusing her eyes on the toes of her boots.

“Who’ll have the same initials?” Harry asked from behind, causing her to let out a short shriek as she practically leapt into the air, her chest pounding and breathing ragged as she spun to see Harry, Neville, and Remus all behind them, quite amused by her outburst. “Alright there, Hermione?”

“Yes, yes – fine, you just – you just startled me, is all.” She managed, clutching a hand to her chest.

“So, who’s going to have the same initials then?” Neville asked, curiously. He rocked back and forth; his hands clasped at the small of his back beneath his cloak. Hermione caught sight of a small bag beneath his robes – that would likely spell disaster down the line for someone; probably her.

“Oh – Tracey and Terry Boot. They’d both have the same.” Daphne said, quickly, her face remarkably impassive. Hermione glanced at Tracey and watched, slightly in awe, as she didn’t so much as hesitate before nodding solemnly.

“It’s true – remarkably convenient after the wedding. Us girls have to take these things into consideration when thinking of wizards, you know.”

“Really?” Neville asked, scrunching his nose. “That sounds like a hassle.”

“Seems fair enough to me, I guess.” Harry shrugged. “You guys getting anything?”

Hermione shook her head quickly, her eyes briefly darting to the bemused Remus standing behind the two boys, and suddenly, her heart was in her throat – somehow, _he knew_. A cold pit of dread filled the bottom of her stomach, similar to her brief exposure to the Dementor on the train.

“Well,” Harry said, slowly. “We’ve got a few things – thought we’d try and get the twins back for that prank of theirs.”

Hermione blinked, remembering the incident – Harry had been in an absolute uproar over it all. Shortly upon their return to Hogwarts, the bathrooms in the dungeons had all mysteriously disappeared, and no-one, not even the professors had been able to remember where they had been.

Days later, Percy Weasley, the eldest of the siblings at the school, and the current Head Boy, had apprehended those responsible – his younger brothers, Fred and George. The two had been in detention for a week before attempting to get even with their brother, and had, like the bathrooms before, hidden his book bag away.

Truthfully, Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but at some point, Harry’s bag had also been hidden, though with the professors of the school aware of just what spell had been used – no doubt the boys had been interrogated in detention with Professor McGonagall – Harry’s bag had been returned promptly, at the end of the very next day.

The return of his bag hadn’t stopped him from stewing in his anger for a few days; he’d missed handing in a _Potions_ essay because of it and had received a detention himself.

“You’re taking on Fred and George?” Tracey blinked. “You’re brave.”

“You’re forgetting I grew up with Padfoot and Moony.” Harry scoffed, shooting the adult – who was doing a _remarkable_ job of looking innocent – a look over his shoulder.

“Well, don’t come crying to me if it all blows up in your face.” Hermione sniffed, attempting to take on the roll of the sensible one.

“If it all goes to plan, it’ll be blowing up in _their_ face.” Harry grinned, and, once again, she found her knees trembling at the sight of it. She cursed herself, silently, and took a deep breath.

“So, are we done in here? I was thinking we could all get a drink before going to the next shop – might be nice to beat the lunchtime rush.”

“That’s our Hermione – there’s a reason you’re the top of the year.” Neville grinned, winking as he hurried toward the door.

“And why you’re not, always thinking with his stomach.” Daphne muttered, following the boy.

“Hey, it’s not _just_ Hermione at the top of the year, you arse!” Harry called after the departing Gryffindor before blowing out a sigh. Despite herself, Hermione found herself grinning shyly at him as he stepped up to her – Tracey quickly hurrying after Neville and Daphne.

“So, what did you get?” She asked, pointing to the little bag she could see poking out from inside his cloak. As they walked toward the door, she wriggled her hands into her gloves, and tightened her scarf as she braced for the cold air.

“Now, Miss Granger, that would be telling.” Harry smirked, though he offered her his arm, which she took – though she hoped it hadn’t been as quickly as it had looked.

“And you’re okay with this?” She asked over her shoulder, her eyes looking at Pro – _Remus_ – sceptically. “ _Seriously_?”

“As a Marauder, it’s my solemn duty to encourage the next generation into mischief. As a professor… I can hardly keep an eye on my students _all_ of the time.”

The cold air greeted her as the door opened, and Hermione clutched at Harry’s arm a little tighter, ignoring just how _nice_ it felt, not to mention the knowing looks from both Daphne and Tracey – Neville just looked impatient for food.

“Besides,” Profe – _Remus_ – continued as they made their way down the short, stone steps. “The best pranks are _excellent_ examples of practical learning, wouldn’t you say, Miss Granger?”

Harry chuckled, and gave her a lop-sided smile. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“Well-“ She began, uncertainly, her bottom lip between her teeth. “I _suppose_ , in _theory_ , but-“

“Excellent!” Prof – _Remus_ – grinned, clapping Harry on his other shoulder as he offered a conspiratorial wink to the two of them. “In that case, I feel absolutely _no_ guilt in declaring my belief – _as a Marauder_ – that Harry and Neville will excel in pranking the twins. I quite look forward to collecting my winnings from Sirius, after all.”

“You _bet_ on Harry’s prank?” She cried; eyes wide as she stumbled her footing. “I can’t believe it!”

“Oh, they bet on _everything_.” Harry sighed at her side – he looked up at the sky before looking at her. “Remus is on a winning streak of twenty so far. It’s a personal best.”

“You can’t help those who never want to learn from their mistakes, Harry. I’m quite looking forward to increasing that number.” He added, grinning wolfishly as Profess – _Moony_ – met her wide-eyed gaze. She suddenly had a terrible, _terrible_ feeling.

Had they bet on _her_?

* * *

The days following Hogsmeade had passed quickly – the castle had returned to its usual routine, even if the constant chill of the distant Dementors was a constant presence in the backs of everyone’s mind.

In her quiet moments alone, Hermione revelled in the memories of her first trip to the nearby magical town. _The Three Broomsticks_ had been lovely and cozy, reminding her of the nearby pub to her own house, which served the most _wonderful_ fish and chips – for as long as she lived, she didn’t think she’d ever forget the little pub, with its climbing frame and slide outside.

 _The Three Broomsticks_ had tickled that distant memory, of sitting at the table with her grandparents after a trip out somewhere on the weekends, bouncing excitedly in her seat, with her little legs kicking back and forth. Like that Muggle pub, _The Three Broomsticks_ served the most delicious food, and, as she’d looked around at the many tables, chairs, and secluded booths, she had almost been able to picture her grandparents, sitting there with her at one of the far tables, sipping a small Gin and Tonic, and her scrunching her eyes at the too cold ice cream she’d eaten too quickly.

Harry had noticed her daydreaming, of course – he always seemed to notice when she was distracted, though, annoyingly, he never seemed to be aware of when _he_ was distracting her; Valentines had been an eye-opener at the obliviousness of one Harry Potter.

Still, it had been pleasant. Professor Lupin had sat with them in their little booth, Daphne and Tracey next to him, while Neville had been on the far side of Harry. He’d spun tales of his years at Hogwarts, and the mischief they had managed under the leadership of James Potter. His smile had been fond and consistent throughout it all, and the longer he spoke, the more she thought she might have liked James.

She did, after all, quite like his son.

Harry had smiled throughout it all, though he remained silent and picked at the black and gold oval-shaped label of his Butterbeer – the small pile of shredded paper forming a small mountain between his hands.

Their meal had been wonderful and filling when it had arrived, and the fish and chips she’d ordered had been a close second to that wonderful dish in her memory. Perhaps, one day, she might bring her Grandma to the pub – they could order fish and chips and eat ice cream.

After that, they had returned to their shopping, dipping in and out of each store and purchasing little things here and there. She hadn’t paid much attention to it all, honestly – she’d been too swept up in the fun of it all, though she _had_ made sure to buy a dashingly jet-coloured scarf with little trimmings of silver along the edges. The moment she’d seen it, she could think of no-one that would wear it better than Harry.

He’d been stunned by the gift, though he’d immediately wrapped it around his neck, despite the already warm cloak he’d worn about his shoulders, and her chest had felt lighter than a feather, even as her heart beat a mile a minute at the action.

Later on, she’d _finally_ been able to drag everyone into _Scrivenshaft’s_ , and had gotten a taste of her own medicine. It had been in a little alcove of stationary accessories, but it had immediately caught her eye. It was a delightful organiser, made of fine russet-coloured leather. Fine, golden patterning was embossed on both covers, and her fingers had traced them reverently.

Inside was enough room for her to keep all of her sheets of parchment, and there were even little tags on the side for her to manage what she wanted. However, despite how much she had yearned to buy it, she’d slid it back onto the shelf with a quiet, mournful sigh and gone on to browse the various inks that were on sale.

It had come as quite the surprise, ten minutes later, when she’d turned and spotted Harry at the counter, handing over a handful of coins for that very same organiser. He’d grinned at her stunned expression, and offered it to her with a hopefully smile, his eyes dancing with nervousness – as if she would ever – _could ever_ – refuse that boy.

That wonderful, thoughtful boy.

They’d returned to the castle an hour later, piling into the carriage, discussing what they’d bought, what they had enjoyed the most, but it had all passed in a blur to her. Her gloved hands had clutched the organiser to her chest, and she’d leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder, the fur making her nose twitch.

Harry was a generous boy – that she knew well enough. He was generous not only in deed, but in word as well; always quick to say a kind word to her, to compliment her hair, or the way she wore her uniform, though it was always the same, regardless of what he said.

He had been generous the day he had leapt on the back of that Mountain Troll, of trying to save the scared little girl that had been so _jealous_ of how quickly magic came to him that she’d been rude to him for weeks – he hadn’t cared about that, though. All he’d cared about was that she was safe. It had felt humbling to try and offer that same thing in return – to read to him while he recovered from injuries that, by rights, _she_ would have endured.

That he’d been the one to hold her as she faced her fear of heights after crossing the gorge had meant the world to her, even then. He’d not said a word as she sobbed into his shoulder and had waited calmly until she managed to control herself.

Then, there had been the whole thing with the Basilisk. She’d barely been able to follow behind Professor Cantrill with the others that had suffered from the creature. The moment she had seen Harry, the boy who had rescued her, _again_ , well, she’d barely been able to stop herself. That kiss on the cheek had been the first she had given, and she could remember, with no small amount of smugness, the dazed look that had been on his face right after. It was a point of pride for her.

Any way that she looked at it, the boy currently sat next to her, with his head propped up by one hand as he idly read the page of the book in front of him, was her hero, her very own knight in shining armour. Some days, it was hard to imagine that she wasn’t dreaming.

That wasn’t to say he was infallible, like some believed him to be. He was, after all, a boy – a thirteen-year-old one at that. He could be thoughtless, brash, impulsive, and he had a certain streak of mischievous disregard for the rules, though she would admit that a similar streak ran through her too. She tried not to smile crookedly at the sight of Professor Snape’s cloak catching fire.

She turned to regard Harry; he was sat on her right, the two of them nestled amongst their books at their little table in the Library – Neville had been hoodwinked into helping Tracey and Daphne with something or other, no doubt part of their little plan, though what that plan _was_ remained a mystery.

Harry’s brow was furrowed in thought, and his eyes darted back and forth – he was a quick reader – while his lips pressed tightly together. There was a tenseness in Harry that had been building for the entire week, and it broke her heart.

Today was October thirty-first, the anniversary of his parent’s death, and it was a Sunday. She had dragged him to the Library in an attempt to find a quiet place away from all the bubbling excitement in the castle, and for the most part, they had been successful. The Library was usually quiet on a Sunday, and their table was nestled deep within the Library, away from the most prying of eyes.

He glanced up at her, his eyes catching the sunlight through the window – for as long as she lived, she didn’t think she’d ever forget his eyes. They were just so… _full_ in their intensity, and _Merlin_ , she’d put money on the bet that he wasn’t even _trying_!

“Is there something on my face?” He asked, voice rough and hoarse as he sat up. He wore only a long, baggy tunic with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and his hair was tied back.

“No.” She murmured, quietly, breathlessly, even. “I just-“

He blinked quickly, and her fingers knotted themselves on the open book before her. She took a deep breath. “Is everything alright?”

“No, I mean, yes, everything’s fine, I just… are _you_ alright?” She asked, her leg bouncing beneath the table. “You’ve been quiet since everyone left, and…”

“Well, it _is_ the Library.” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the room around them. “I don’t think Madame Pince, or any of those assistants of hers let us get away with having a chat.”

“Oh, stop it – you know what I mean.” Hermione sighed, swatting his hand lightly. “It’s just… I know how difficult today is, and-“

“And you want to help.” He smiled, sadly. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and rubbed at his face with the base of his palms. “I don’t deserve you.” He muttered.

“ _What_?” She gasped, eyes widening. “Why would you say something like that? Harry you’re the kindest person I know!”

Harry snorted and stretched. “You can think what you want, but I think that about _you_. I’ve been miserable to be around all week, and here you are, trying to make sure I’m alright.”

“You’re my best friend.” She said, instantly.

“I beat Daphne?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow as a crooked smile swept across his lips.

“You’re in a league of your own, Potter – now, don’t change the subject.” She grinned, bumping his knee with her own. She licked her lips and slid her fidgeting hands under her thighs.

“Honestly – everything you’ve done this week has been wonderful. All of you. I’ve never really… handled today well. That’s how I ended up in that bathroom in first year, you know.”

“You said.” She smiled, fondly.

“That’s what I get for running off for the day, I guess.” He shrugged, as if it were something as simple as stubbing a toe, and not having been thrown against a wall by a Mountain Troll. “Worked out pretty well in the end, I’d say.”

“Yeah, me too.” She squeaked, ducking her chin. There was a moment of silence between the two of them before the sound of approaching feet had them glancing at each other, curiously. Almost nobody came through here on a Sunday.

As the one closest to the aisle, with Harry between herself and the exterior wall, she took it upon herself to glance down the row of bookshelves – a twang of fear made itself known at the startling realisation that it could be Madame Pince, coming to throw them out for being too noisy.

When she looked, however, it wasn’t Madame Pince at all. Instead, it was that Ravenclaw transfer student – _Cai Griffin_ ; she’d seen Harry share a few words with him every now and then, though she’d never tried to listen in. They seemed to know one another to an extent – perhaps they knew one another through Sirius or Remus.

“Ah, Harry – I thought I’d find you in here.” The older boy smiled, his hands clasped smartly at the small of his back as he stopped at their table. He was dressed much the same way Harry used to in their first and second year, with a smart, well made doublet with the sigil of his House on his breast – a leaping, blue Kelpie.

“Cai – what can I do for you?” Harry asked next to her. She noticed how he sat a little taller in his chair, and how he sat forward, clasping his hands together on the table.

Cai’s eyes darted to her, and his jaw twitched. She tried not to let it bother her. She should have known there were others like Malfoy’s lot in the castle. She began to gather her things. “I’ll leave you two to it.” She said, quietly.

She stilled the second she felt Harry’s hand on her wrist, though when she looked at him, his eyes were entirely focused on the older boy across from them. Cai Griffin shuffled anxiously from foot to foot. “I take it that this is House business, and that you didn’t just mean to imply what my friend here thought you did.”

Cai blinked, confused. “I’m sorry – have I offended you?” He asked, looking directly at her. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his hair fell to his shoulders and shimmered blue in the sunlight from the window. Cai bowed low, his hand darting to his chest. “If I’ve done so, I meant no offense. My intention was merely to talk to my Lord.”

“Y-your _Lord_?” She blinked, owlishly. She darted a look to Harry, who nodded once. “I thought it was because I’m a Muggle-born.” She said, quietly.

“I don’t judge based on blood, Miss Granger. It would be hypocritical of me.” Cai grinned, charmingly, as he straightened. “I’m a _Morgen_ , a half-breed. Your Ministry would class me as a creature – luckily, I was born into privilege. I’m luckier than most.”

“You know my name?” Hermione managed; eyes wide.

“Oh yes – Harry has been singing your praises every chance he gets.”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush as her head spun to Harry, who, she noted, was blushing rather furiously himself. “Oh, thank you.” She said, quietly. “I’ll, uh – I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No, it’s okay – whatever he has to say, I’m sure he’ll be able to manage it in front of you. Unless…” He trailed off, giving Cai a strange look – it was brief, and for a moment, she thought she’d almost imagined it.

“Nothing like that, Lor- I mean, _Harry_.” Cai breathed out, heavily, catching himself on the use of Harry’s title. She knew how much it bothered him to be referred to by it around Hogwarts – in the early days of their first year, a number of students had insisted on calling him by it until he’d managed to get it into their heads that he was a student, just like them. In the first week, before her jealousy had taken root, she’d even been one to refer to him as that, after hearing some of the others do it. “I just came to see how you were doing, since…”

“It’s that day.” Harry muttered, falling back in his chair again. “Family Magic?” He asked, looking at Cai with pursed lips.

Cai shrugged. “Partly. I also happen to think you’re tolerable.”

“I’m sorry,” She said, biting her lip as Cai and Harry looked at her. Her shoulders hunched on reflex as she willed the chair to swallow her whole. “But what’s a Morgen? You mentioned it, and I’ve never heard of it before, and, well-“

Harry snorted, and she sent him a glare, while Cai was busy grinning at Harry when she turned to look at him again. “That took longer than you said it would.”

“ _You didn’t_!” Hermione cried, spinning to look at Harry. “That’s _terrible_!”

Harry held his hands up in surrender. “I said you were curious, and frankly, Morgen aren’t very well known. That’s all.” She turned away from him with a huff and folded her arms across her chest.

Arse.

“A Morgen is similar to a Veela, in a way. We just happen to be very uniquely linked to water; every Morgen is an Elemental. We don’t turn into birds when we’re angry though – though, we might douse you with water.” Cai smiled, rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots. “So, I assume you’re alright, Harry?” He asked after she nodded and made a small note to research at a later date.

“I’ll be fine – I have excellent company.” Harry said, kindly. “I’ll survive, I think.”

“Alright then.” Cai nodded. “I’m always available to you, of course. My Lord, Miss Granger.”

The two of them watched, silently, as Cai bowed and walked back the way he came. “Rumour-mill has it, several of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls are quite charmed by him, you know.” Harry hummed as he settled back in his chair, the index finger of his right hand idly tapping the wood of the desk. “I have it on good authority.”

“Oh?”

“Lavender and Parvati.”

“They’re _hardly_ reliable.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Possibly. After all, he might have just charmed his first Gryffindor.”

“I wasn’t _charmed_.” Hermione denied with another huff. “It takes more than that to charm _me_ , Mister Potter.”

“Good.” He murmured, quietly, and even as she stared at her organiser and the sheets of parchment that she had organised _meticulously_ , she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her. Heat crept up her neck. “I might have had to challenge him to an Honour Duel.”

Her eyes widened at the memory of Draco’s sorry attempt at a duel last year. Her leg began to bounce anxiously, and her palms suddenly felt clammy. “Speaking of duelling,” She squeaked. “Is the club going to continue this year, do you know?”

“Sirius said the third, so… _Wednesday_? Should be easier, with more professors this year, too.” He said, slowly. “I’m looking forward to it – I’ve been practicing since last year.”

“Practicing?” She asked with a raised brow as she began clearing away her things. She’d brought her bag, while Harry hadn’t.

“At Arpton – what, did you think I’d just sit on my arse while I was there?”

She paused, her organiser half-way into her bag and pursed her lips. “I actually don’t know what I think, honestly. You never talk about it – not with me, anyway.”

Harry winced as he got to his feet and flicked his wand, the books on their table that they had pilfered from the nearby shelves quickly flying back to their proper places. Normally, she’d scold him for not putting the books back himself, but in that moment, their close proximity was made _abundantly_ clear. She swallowed thickly and stepped out of the way as he shimmied around her.

“Sorry – you know I don’t do it on purpose.” He said, handing her the last book on the table – it was one of the ones he’d purchased on her behalf during the whole _Heir of Slytherin_ disaster last year. “I like you not really knowing that side of me – does that make me selfish?”

She shook her head slowly and quickly put her bag on her shoulder. Harry offered her his arm, and she took it gladly, weaving her arm around his – it had become almost routine after Hogsmeade; a wonderful, _wonderful_ routine. “Not at all.” She said, quietly as they made toward the entrance to the Library, quietly meandering through the silent rows of the tall bookshelves.

“I think it does, sometimes.” He murmured, his lips pressed together in a tight, but sad smile. “I had an idea, actually, for this summer – I thought you might want to clear it with your parents before I mention it to the others and to Sirius.”

“What is it?”

“Well, the Quidditch World Cup is happening over the summer, and we’ll be going as official guests – all the families get an invitation. It’s as much a political event as it is for the sport. I thought you might like to come, as my, uh, personal guest?” He asked, his voice growing shakier the longer he spoke. Hermione flushed and ducked her head.

“I’d love to.”

She felt Harry’s shoulders drop in relief. “Well, that’s something good on this awful day, at least.”

“And spending time with me in the Library wasn’t good?” She asked, archly. “Careful how you answer, Potter.”

“That’s a nasty trick you got from Daphne.” He grunted as they approached the doors, which, thankfully, were open. “Of course it’s been good. It’s been the most tolerable Halloween of my life, honestly.”

“I’m glad.” She said, squeezing his arm with her own.

Just as they turned the corner out of the Library, the pair of them came face-to-face with Luna Lovegood and Arlo Reyes, the Ravenclaw duo Harry had introduced them to at the start of the year.

Hermione had spoken briefly with Luna since then – while she didn’t believe in the same animals as the Ravenclaw, and often found some things she said confusing, but beneath it all, there was a rather intelligent girl hidden behind all of the whimsy.

“Oh, hello Harry.” Luna smiled widely; her hands clasped before her as she rocked on her heels. Arlo, at her side, smiled and nodded politely at the two of them.

“Off to do some reading?” Harry asked, his gaze falling to the bags on each student’s shoulder.

“Research project.” Arlo sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag. “This one wants to see if there’s anything to help the Thestrals in the forest.” He said, hooking a thumb at the blonde.

“Sounds like a great idea.” Hermione smiled – Harry had mentioned the creatures a few times now, and she’d had to spend an evening in the Library, but she’d finally managed to understand just what it was that he’d been seeing. Her heart broke for the boy next to her all over again – to have witnessed death so young…

“Would you like to join us, Harry?” Luna asked softly. “I’m afraid everyone is quite wrapped up in the celebrations.”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thanks – Hermione and I were just going to go for a walk. Get some fresh air before it gets dark.”

“We were?” She asked before she could stop herself – Arlo snickered behind his hand.

Harry nodded, but leaned a little closer to Luna as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “There’s a really good table out of the way in the back left corner beneath the widow, against the partition of the Restricted Section. Should be perfect for your project.”

“ _Gracias_ , Harry.” Arlo smiled. “Enjoy your walk!” He grinned, slapping Harry happily on the arm as he stepped around the two of them.

“I hear the lake is rather pretty around this time. Careful of the Dementors, Harry – they’re quite mean.” Luna smiled, stepping around the two of them and hurrying after Arlo.

“So, we’re going on a walk, are we?” Hermione asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant as the two of them watched Luna hurry into the Library. “Do you want to go get Neville, and I’ll go get the girls?”

“No, I-“ Harry paused and swallowed. “I want to show you somewhere.”

“Okay.” She said, slowly. Her free hand played with the strap of her bag before she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, we still need to go back to the Tower, and-“

Harry’s quiet chuckling cut her off. “Clara!” He called into the empty corridor, the flaming bird appearing a moment later with a brilliant burst of light. “Dobby!” He called after grinning at the curious bird; the little Elf appeared with a crack and bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Master Harry Potter Sirs be calling Dobby? The Elf asked, his voice squeaky and excited.

Hermione smiled as she watched Harry get down on his knees to look the Elf in the eye. “Can you take something back to Hermione’s room for me, and fetch two cloaks from mine?” The Elf nodded so quickly his ears made little flapping sounds.

She slid the bag from her shoulder, and carefully handed it to the Elf, who took it easily. When Dobby disappeared with a crack, she tilted her head curiously at Harry – he’d asked for _two_ cloaks, and she was smart enough to understand that he intended for her to use one of them, but she _was_ curious as to why one of her own coats wouldn’t have been just as good.

When Dobby reappeared, he was holding the two fur-lined cloaks in his arms. Harry took the top-most one and wrapped it around her. She made sure to duck her head into the gap between the wide leather straps that criss-crossed the chest and winced as they pressed down uncomfortably against her. In front of her, Harry winced and offered a quiet apology, which she waved off.

With the cloak settled as comfortably as it was going to get, she couldn’t help but feel swamped by the mass of fabric. It was thick, and just as heavy as it looked, but _so warm_. She had thought with the open front, it might be airy, but in reality, it felt wonderful. It also smelled _very_ much like the boy who was quickly settling his own around his shoulders with practiced ease. There was just a hint of citrus and honeyed beeswax.

With his own cloak sorted, Clara took to the air, leaping from the flagstone floor with practiced ease as she flapped her powerful wings. She felt Clara’s familiar magic wash over her, and a moment later, the three of them were standing atop a cliff overlooking the Black Lake.

Her breath left her in a rush at the sheer _height_ , and she stumbled backwards into Harry, a surprised shriek escaping her lips. Only Harry’s firm grip on her arms kept her standing upright. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He breathed, squeezing her arms slightly.

“What are we doing up here?” She asked, hating how her voice trembled. Above her, the clear sky spread far and wide, not a single cloud in sight, and a brisk wind whipped her hair about her face mercilessly. “What about the Dementors?”

“If they get too close, Clara will take us back. I wanted to show you where I was; before I found you in that bathroom in first year.”

“You were up _here_?” She cried; eyes wide as she looked around her frantically.

“Aye. In this exact spot, I’d reckon – only, I was sitting down. Do you want to sit?” He asked over the wind. She nodded, numbly, as her legs gave out beneath her. “I thought you might be able to wrap up a bit more with the cloak. It’s not too uncomfortable, is it?” He asked as he helped her to the stone beneath them. She gripped his hand tightly and almost dragged him down with her.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.” She said, inching closer to Harry. The closer she was to Harry, the further she was from the edge. Harry meant safety… _most_ _of the time_. “I can see why you like it up here, though. It’s quite nice, despite the, well…”

“The height?” Harry chuckled, wrapping his cloak tightly around him as best he could with her hand gripping his own. “If anything _were_ to happen, Clara would catch you.”

“If anything _does_ happen to me, I’m holding you responsible, Potter.” She grumbled, giving his hand a bit of a squeeze despite herself. In truth, it was quite lovely on the rock, with the sun falling behind the western mountain-range, and the pinks and purples that tinged the sky. Hogwarts looked simply breath-taking, with hundreds of little pinpricks of light dotting its walls – it looked, quite frankly, _magical_.

The two of them were quiet for a time, content to simply enjoy the view. Every now and then, Harry would squeeze her hand, as if to reassure himself that she was there with him – she never hesitated to return the squeeze.

“Tell me about them?” She asked, leaning into him, and resting her head on his shoulder. It fit quite nicely, she thought. “James and Lily, I mean.”

“I… don’t know much about them. Besides second-hand stories and the occasional notebook here and there.” He said after a moment. “I thought I knew my father, as best I could, I guess, before coming here, but…”

“What changed?”

“Little things. Things that went against what I thought I knew; the blanks I’d filled in, you know?”

“I think so.” She offered, squeezing his hand, and smiling to herself as they watched the Squid break the surface of the water with a tentacle before slapping it down loudly. “I can’t imagine what it must be like. None of us can, I guess.”

“Neville has an idea – a few others around the school too, but it doesn’t really help. They’re just…” He paused and heaved a sigh. “Not there. Meanwhile, everyone’s in that Hall having a good time. Neville managed to suffer through it – he always had the thicker skin. Augusta made sure he was the big brother.” He grinned a little at those last words, and Hermione found herself grinning with him.

“What is it he calls you?”

“ _Little Wolf_.”

“When did that start?” She asked, folding her legs beneath her in an effort to get more comfortable.

“I don’t know, honestly. He’s called it me that as long as I can remember.” Harry shrugged, and as Hermione looked at him, his eyes stared off somewhere in the distance. “He was a lot bigger than me, when we were little, I mean. I had a bit of a growth spurt around eight and caught up to him.”

“He loves you.”

“Aye, he does.” Harry smiled fondly, glancing at her. “Did I ever tell you about what I saw in the mirror?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not properly. Just bits and pieces.”

She felt, rather than heard, the deep, shuddering breath he took. “I was at Arpton – there’s a garden there, sectioned off like a heptagram, with this ancient oak tree in the middle of it; the roots make this tall arch, almost as tall as Sirius. Anyway, I like to sit on the roots and enjoy the peace and quiet – I guess that’s what I was doing in the dream.”

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together; already the tip of her nose stung, and she was positive it hadn’t got anything to do with the chilly wind.

“I know it wasn’t real, _now_ , I mean, but… I had a brother; his name was Rob. He had red hair, like my mother, but it was short and stuck up everywhere. He played Quidditch professionally and had a son and two daughters. He was married to Daphne.” He grinned, bumping his shoulder with hers and wiggling his eyebrows. “She was much nicer.” Harry added with a little whisper that made her shoulders shake silently with laughter.

“Rob had a twin sister – Jasmine. Red hair and green eyes, and, unfortunately, married to Neville – the two of them had a few kids too. My parents were there as well, older than they were, obviously, when they, _you know_.”

She nodded silently, a pair of silent tears tracking down her cheeks. She wouldn’t wipe them away. She refused.

“Sirius and Remus were there too, obviously. Astoria was bullying Rob, and Clara was watching everything going on from the oak. It was… _nice_.” He breathed out a huff and squeezed her hand tightly, his thumb idly tracing back and forth against one of her knuckles. “I think I miss the idea of them more than anything, which sounds, well, _awful_.”

Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to say that it _didn’t_ sound awful – he’d been nothing more than a baby, and he’d had his parents stolen away from him. He didn’t know what it was like to have a mum and dad, not like she did, or Daphne, or Tracey, or hundreds of others in the school. He had Sirius and Remus, he’d had Arcturus – he’d _had_ a family, a real one, a tangible one.

As much as she hated to think it, James and Lily Potter were stories to their only son. It was _tragic_.

“I visit them.” He said after a moment, his gaze focused on the castle so far below them. “I had them moved to Arpton after I went there a few years ago. They were buried at Godric’s Hollow, not far from, well, _there_. I visit them when I arrive, and when I leave.”

“What do you do?”

“Light candles and talk to them, really.” He sighed with a shrug. “It’s weird, talking to statues, you know? But kind of nice, at the same time. It’s always hard to leave.” His last words were choked, the raw emotion that had slowly been creeping into his voice clear as day.

Hermione leaned into him and wrapped her free arm around her best friend as the sun began its final descent beyond the horizon. She squoze with all of her strength and felt her shoulders tremble as Harry wrapped his own arms around her in return. Beneath her arm, she felt Harry’s chest lurch with a barely restrained hiccup.

“It’s okay.” She managed to whisper over the wind. “Just let it all out. I’m here.”

Like a dam, the violent, wracking sobs burst forth, and as the witching hour of October thirty-first, nineteen-ninety-three crept ever closer, Hermione Granger held onto her dearest friend, Harry Potter, as he wept for his lost parents, for the lost opportunities, the lost touches, and smiles.

Hermione wept for the boy he would never be.


	46. Harry XXXI

The days following Halloween were some of the most awkward he’d ever experienced. For the first time in his life, Harry had genuinely been coping with the day as a whole – the laughter and excitement within the school hadn’t gotten to him the same way that it had for the last two years, and he thanked his lucky stars that someone had been there for him.

The whole two months at Hogwarts so far had, frankly, been some of the most enjoyable he’d ever had. There were no taunts in the corridors, and Draco had learned to keep his impudent mouth shut after the last year – there was no haunting voice whispering through the walls, and he was able to just be _Harry_.

Enjoying his time with his friends and being able to focus on his schoolwork properly for the first time his first year was _freeing_ , and it was made all the better with the presence of Remus and Andromeda, two people who he visited almost daily and loved even more for their quiet presence in his life.

His friends had been simply brilliant. He had loved their foray into Hogsmeade, strange as it had been with Remus and all of the other professors hovering over and monitoring them all so closely. From what he’d heard over the last two years, students were generally allowed quite a lot of freedom on Hogsmeade trips.

He’d figured it had something to do with the Dementors drifting about in sky above the clouds, no doubt only held at bay by the large presence of Aurors. He’d spotted them almost instantly, standing there in their crimson robes, and looking as fierce and tough as ever.

Part of him, that tiny part of him that, during the Christmas of his first year, had wondered what it would have been like to be a Curse Breaker, wondered at the possibilities of a career as an Auror; chasing down criminals, late-night stakeouts, and tense firefights. It could never be so, for, upon his fourteenth birthday, he would begin to handle the simplest of his duties as the future Lord of House Potter; mostly small articles of estate management and charity work – something that, in another life, his father would have tutored him in, and upon his sixteenth, he would ascend to the title and all the responsibility that came with it.

The Lord Potter, a boy of sixteen with only his OWLs under his belt. It was hardly the reassurance he needed.

Hogsmeade had been pleasant for another reason as well. For two years, he’d watched Hermione gaze longingly at Hogsmeade through the windows of Gryffindor Tower’s Common Room on quiet Saturdays when the majority of the school ventured there. The pointed roofs and bright lights were just visible over the tops of the pine trees that surrounded the town, and in the dark winter months, it had looked magical, with its orange glow amongst the white snow on the window, and the dark skies.

On their eventual trip, it had barely been able to take his eyes off of her. He had thought her pretty before, but barely had the words for how she had looked, wrapped up against the cold and smiling excitedly as they wandered from store to store. He just hoped he hadn’t made himself look a fool.

It had been nice though, and he’d particularly enjoyed how, in the days since, Hermione had gotten into the habit of hooking her arm through his own. Each time, a tingle would skitter along his spine, and his skin would dance with his magic – his hairs would stand on end, and it would be all he could do to prolong their contact.

Quite frankly, he was the luckiest wizard in the castle.

And so, when he’d seen how, on the thirty-first, Hermione had gone out of her way in her attempts to distract him, despite his growing sour mood in the week leading up to it, she had steadfastly remained at his side. It had been nice, different.

He was so used to being on his own, though he knew that was entirely his doing – it had become a habit over the years, and he dealt with his grief and pain the only way he knew how: By keeping it to himself – it was nice to have someone there, even if they weren’t saying anything.

Their time in the Library had been wonderful, and he’d barely been able to pretend to look like he was reading whenever Hermione glanced at him. How could he _not_ have looked at her? The sunlight from the window had made her hair glow with golden highlights, and her eyes had seemed brighter than ever before.

He’d very nearly told Cai to piss off when he’d turned up and flashed that smile of his. The urge flashed through him, white hot in its intensity, and he was only just able to crush it before it slipped past his lips. He liked to think that he wasn’t the jealous sort – he had lived and incredibly blessed life, all things considered. Arcturus, Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, his friends, and the rest of his family were always there for him. In truth, the only thing that he would wish for would have been to have his parents back, but then, there was little doubt in his mind that every other orphan of Voldemort’s Blood War wouldn’t ask for the same.

It felt stupid, to miss people he didn’t know and couldn’t remember. People had _died_ , fighting for what they believed in, and yet, each Halloween, he locked himself away and moped about, wishing for two people out of the countless _thousands_.

To see his parents, to have _known_ them, had been the only thing he’d truly wished for in his life. He knew _of_ them but didn’t know them _himself_. Of course, there were always the familiar twangs of discomfort in his chest when he saw families at the Platform, or in Diagon, or in any number of places he’d visited over the years, but _never_ jealousy.

So, when it had reared its ugly head when Cai Griffin, a boy a few years his senior, had flashed Hermione with those smiles, and spoken kindly to her – despite the unfortunate misunderstanding at the start of the conversation – he’d damn near nearly drawn his wand and hexed the boy out of the room.

It had left a sour taste in his mouth since – he’d spoken to Sirius about it, in a careful, roundabout way, and Padfoot had just chuckled merrily and smiled through the mirror. As expected, he hadn’t been useful at all.

In truth, Harry lay a large portion of the blame over his _stupid_ idea to take Hermione to his rock at the feet of his need to, in some way, out-do the older boy. It had been the perfect place, in his head, and after declaring his intentions to Luna and her friend, he’d privately revelled in the thought of Hermione in one of _his_ cloaks. She had looked, simply, amazing, with her loose hair billowing about her shoulders, and the fur pelt tickling her jaw.

When they’d arrived at the rock, with Clara keeping a careful eye on the two of them, and the Dementors that had been floating in the distance, he’d intended only to enjoy the view with her, and _maybe_ hold her hand.

He hadn’t meant to sob into her shoulder like a child.

It had been _humiliating_.

It had also been one of the most liberating experiences of his life, and he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that particular paradox. He wasn’t sure what it had been that had triggered it – perhaps her quiet question, and the slow, startling realisation that he truly _didn’t_ know his parents.

He knew fragments, anecdotes, bits and pieces from one source or another, but he didn’t know them as _people_. He had no stories of his own. He couldn’t remember falling asleep with his father on the sofa, though he knew it had happened – he had the photographs, after all.

Still, remembering just _what_ he had gained and lost in the same stroke with the Mirror of Erised had left him feeling strangely raw, laid bare to the girl he had taken to that cliff to _impress_. It had taken him as much by surprise as it had no doubt taken her. She had held him as he cried and held his hand just as fiercely as she ever did. In light of all of that, his original jealousy was petty and childish.

They’d returned to the school afterwards, and no-one had been the wiser to their little private adventure, though he was sure his eyes were bloodshot, and his face had been splotchy. He’d retreated straight up to his bedroom, a fierce hug and a whispered thank you had been all he could offer Hermione.

He’d been so embarrassed the following day, sitting in class with his head down and glaring a hole into the parchment as he scribbled down notes furiously. He’d paid Snape no mind as he hovered and criticised his brewing, Professor Grant had thankfully left him out of his discussions, as had Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. Hermione had noticed.

She’d offered quiet words, whispers that he had nothing to be embarrassed about, and that she was _glad_ he’d opened up to her, but still, it rankled. How could he be the boy he was supposed to be, the man, the future _Lord_ if he got upset and bawled his eyes out on the shoulder of a pretty girl? There were more important things to worry about, and plenty of people out there with much more of a right to a sniffle than he.

He scowled as he kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot.

Harry knew he was being stupid – he did! Likely he would have been completely fine having his little outburst in front of Daphne, or even Tracey, but it was the fact it had been _Hermione_ of all people. _Merlin_ , why did it have to have been Hermione?

He let out another sigh, glaring at the building ahead of him – it was the same as it had been the year before, and loomed in front of him just as ominously as ever. This building, for all that he’d enjoyed the Duelling Club the previous year, had been where the ridicule had really taken off; the judgemental looks and the quiet bullying his friends had been subjected to, all because he was a Parselmouth.

Thankfully, it was an optional club this year – duelling did little to protect one from a Dementor, the ominous bastards that circled the skies above Hogwarts wouldn’t be phased by a _Reducto_ or a _Bombarda_. He’d asked Remus and checked.

With it being optional, he was sure there were going to be fewer students. As fun as it had been amidst all of the awfulness that had made up second year, if there was something he’d learned in his time at Hogwarts, it was that if something were to be made optional, most would pass on it. Never doubt a Wizard’s capacity to be lazy.

His friends would all be there, and he’d heard a good number of Gryffindor were excited to attend too. It would be nice to have a little spar, though he doubted he’d have as much fun as he had with Felix – he frowned, briefly, at the thought of the man. He missed the way he taught, and his constant, reassuring presence at his shoulder.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the cavernous space, shrugging out of his cloak and passing it to Dobby, who appeared instantly and disappeared just as quickly. The cool air hit his back first, having briefly hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to change before making his way here.

There were fewer better feelings than stripping that uniform off and getting into something comfortable and light – and he’d need something light if he was going to spend the next few hours duelling people.

His left hand drifted to his right forearm and ghosted over the wand holster and the wand it held within. His mind reassured, he wandered over to the large assembly in the middle of the hall, noting the familiar faces and smattering of House colours, though most were rather clearly red. He remained at the back, quiet and out of the way as he smiled briefly at Sirius, who was addressing everyone from atop the closest platform, Remus at his side.

Behind the two of them were a dozen other members of the staff – he eyed both Professors McGonagall and Cantrill among them, as well as the three other _Defence_ professors. There were also three others that caught his eye; the first, the woman, had long, silver hair arranged in braids all around her head, and her silver eyes peered at the students before her with an unusual intensity.

The second was a tall man, tall and lithe beneath his layers and layers of fur clothing. A long, pointed brown beard stretched from his chin to the middle of his chest, and upon his shaved, bald head, were a number of runic symbols from the Norse alphabet.

The last was a man of about the same height as Sirius, though maybe an inch taller. He was broad, and his skin looked weatherworn and beaten – it was a man that was used to being outdoors. He wore a dark leather doublet, and on either side of his head were a number of dark tattoos, and a cap of short brown hair on the top.

Like the previous man, he had a pointed brown beard, though his was much shorter, and behind it, his lips twitched as he gazed at the crowd. His eyes were wide, and startlingly blue – his head slowly moved side to side, flashing a grin of pearly white teeth whenever he caught the eye of a curious student.

Harry had seen all three in the Great Hall since the start of the year – the woman with the silver hair, and the man with the shorter beard always sat together, talking quietly among themselves at the same table as Professor Morris, the original _Warding_ professor for the NEWT students. The tall man sat with the _Divination_ professors.

“Everyone will be split into groups. Last year was all about learning to protect yourself – this year, we’ll focus on introducing you to actual duelling.” Sirius was saying, clapping his hands. “I’m grateful to have been invited back, apparently you lot tolerated me enough that Headmaster Dumbledore thought you might like to see me again.” He grinned, a rumbling of laughter answering him.

“With me are a number of professors, of course, so we can’t have _too_ much fun. Now, why don’t we get sorted and get on with this?” Sirius winked, hopping down from the platform. “Separate into groups of, oh, let’s say twenty and we’ll see how things go from there, shall we?”

Harry stepped back as the crowd surged around him, students from all years hurrying to join up with their friends, and those on their own hoping to see at least one familiar face. His eyes swept the crowd and landed on the familiar forms of his friends, already surrounded by a gaggle of other students.

He made his way over to them, the corners of his mouth twitching when Neville spotted him and waved him over excitedly – Hermione smiled at him and tucked her hair behind her ear, though he found himself dropping his gaze quickly. He couldn’t even properly look her in the eye, and the longer it went on, the more frustrating he was finding the whole thing.

There were others in the group beside his friends – there was Hannah Abbott and Earnest Macmillan, Eirene Taylor and Blaise Zabini, Susan, and her friend Isao, and also the older, radiant Celeste Earhart, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Keeper, and a sixth year; she was also a Veela.

Thankfully, she had some control over her allure. He had no desire to become a mindless, gibbering moron in front of _anyone_.

In no time at all, there were twenty students in their little group, and he was pleased to see Cedric Diggory among them – he remembered the duel from last year and how quickly he’d been left sprawled on the platform; Felix would’ve beaten him bloody for that.

“Alright children, gather around, you’ve got me this year!” Sirius called, wandering over to them with all the charm he could muster. He heard Celeste sigh dreamily as she fanned herself. Harry rolled his eyes from his position behind her and heard the quiet snickers of Neville. “So, who here’s duelled before? Properly, I mean.”

A few hands went up, and Harry hesitantly lifted his own – he wasn’t entirely sure if Felix’s way of teaching him spells technically constituted a duel, but if it got him on the platform quicker, he’d take it.

“Alright – you, my dear.” Sirius said, pointing a finger at Celeste, who hurried forward. “And you – what’s your name, lad?”

“Apollo Fiz, Lord Black – of House Bartlet.” Apollo said, bowing politely with a hand clasped to his chest.

“And your name?” Sirius asked, glancing at the blonde Veela.

“Celeste, of House Earhart, Lord Black.” She curtsied demurely. Sirius nodded once and gestured toward the platform. The two Ravenclaws hurried to either end, taking the steps two at a time, and Harry smiled slightly as the familiar barrier sprung up around the platform protectively.

“I want to see what the two of you can do – on my mark, you shall both salute one another, bow, and take up your positions.” Sirius instructed, his arms folded and his eyes hard – Harry rarely saw him like this; calculating, in command, coiled, ready to leap into action at any given moment.

“Salute!” Sirius called. “Bow!”

Apollo and Celeste fell into their positions quickly, their wands levelled at one another confidently. Beside him, Neville leaned into him. “Who do you have your money on?”

“Not a clue.” He whispered back, his eyes darting between the young witch and wizard. “She’s a Veela, so she’s a Fire Elemental. I don’t know much about Apollo besides being a nightmare to play against in Quidditch.”

“Wood still running you all ragged?”

“Had us up at five this morning for an early practice with the match coming up this weekend.” He sighed. “Nearly missed breakfast.”

“Begin!” Sirius declared.

The first spell came from Celeste – the witch was a year older than Apollo, and immediately went on the offensive. He didn’t hear the spell, but a brilliant, golden spell hurtled across the platform, only to be batted away by Apollo’s quick _Protego_.

Apollo wasted no time retaliating, casting two powerful _Reducto_ ’s that forced Celeste to side-step, her blonde hair whipping about her face. Apollo followed up on his attacks, a trio of quick, blazing spells hurtling toward her, though she deflected each of them into the barrier surrounding them.

Harry watched the back and forth between them carefully, watching what spells they used, and when. His lips mouthed the words of both competitors silently as his right hand, tucked beneath his left bicep and pinned against his ribs, attempted to mimic the wand movements.

He winced as a particularly powerful wall of flame sprang into existence between the two opponents, the angry tongues stretching high and obscuring any vision. After that, it became a game of who got lucky first.

The flames remained, and every couple of seconds, a spell would hurtle through them from either direction; a desperate attempt to deal a glancing blow with their vision obscured. Personally, Harry thought that spell only useful when in an area that gave you the opportunity to move more freely – on a duelling platform, it hindered the caster as much as the opponent.

A cheer went up as Apollo caught a spell in the shoulder that sent him spinning through the air and crashing into the barrier. The wall of flame disappeared immediately with a flick of Celeste’s wand as she approached the downed wizard, who was groaning as he pushed himself to his knees.

“I yield.” He panted, his hands on his thighs and sweat trickling down the side of his face. His curly hair was matted and damp. Celeste beamed, and a slither of her allure swept over the gathered audience – though only a few showed any reaction to it, and most were all in the front row. Harry, who was in the third, rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as the faintest whisper of it brushed against his mind.

Celeste caught herself quickly, and as rapidly as the uncomfortable feeling was there, it was gone. She knelt to help her Housemate to his feet and offered quiet words that he couldn’t hear over the clapping of the group.

“Very good – head on over to Professor Lupin, and he’ll walk you through some things you got right, and other things you didn’t.” Sirius said, stepping up to the front of the group once more. Both Ravenclaws nodded and hurried off to the side. “Any volunteers for the next round? No? Alright then, Greengrass, Longbottom, you’re both up.”

“ _Shit_!” Neville cursed beside him. “She’s going to eviscerate me.” He added with a moan, and Harry fought the urge to chuckle.

“Show her what you’re made of, Neville.” He said instead, slapping his best friend on the shoulder. “Try to last more than a few seconds.”

“Piss off, Potter.” Neville muttered, stomping toward the stairs.

Harry chuckled to himself as he watched Neville go through the motions across from Daphne under Sirius’s instruction, and moments later, the two had begun their duel.

Harry watched the two of them go back and forth viciously – Harry knew Neville was very direct in the way he duelled; he relied on brute strength and overwhelming force, while Daphne wasn’t afraid of using a little misdirection.

It was like night and day, watching the two fight.

Neville was a powerful wizard, and personally, Harry couldn’t wait to see what he could do when he was older – his wand-work was tight, and the magic radiating off of him was wild and dangerous. Daphne’s magic, in comparison, was cool as ice and focused.

Neville batted another spell aside and approached a pace, ducking under Daphne’s follow-up, and sending a pair of spells at her feet, which she barely hopped out of the way of; her hair, which was tied back in a series of dark braids, whipped over her shoulder.

“Looking forward to your duel?” Sirius asked, appearing at his side suddenly. Harry glanced at him, noting the way his eyes watched his two friends carefully; his arms were crossed, but his wand was clutched tightly in his right hand.

“Tell me who I’m fighting, and I’ll tell you if I’m looking forward to it or not.” He answered, arching an eyebrow, and turning back to look at the fight.

“That depends entirely on if you’re going to take this seriously this year.”

Harry scowled. “I took it seriously last year.”

“We both know that if you’d have taken it seriously, there isn’t a student in your year that could have beaten you.” Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes briefly. “Your duel with the Malfoy boy showed that _quite_ clearly.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair.” He huffed, frowning. “What good is winning if it’s done dishonourably?”

“Dis-“ Sirius began, snapping his head to glance at him. He paused only long enough to wave his hand and Remus appeared. “Keep an eye on the duel.” Remus nodded without a word, while Sirius led him to the side of the room, far away from the rest of the group and any listening ears.

Sirius levelled a stare at him, his lips pressed tightly together and the space between his brows creased as he frowned at Harry. He suddenly felt a little boy all over again.

“Your father was my best friend.” Sirius began, slowly. “From the moment you were placed in my hands, everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you. You’re all the world has left of James and Lily – you’re the last of your family, and I’ll go to the grave fighting to protect their son; _my son_.”

Harry felt his bottom lip tremble as a sharp, stinging sensation tickled the back of his throat. “Sirius, I-“

Sirius held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not done.” He snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “Wizards and witches are killed _every_ _day_. Our world is a hard one, a dangerous one. Look at what happened to Arcturus, Harry – I’ll not have that happen to _you_. Do you think that if Arcturus were able to fight back, that he’d have fought fairly? _Honourably_?”

He shook his head and glanced at his boots. “He’d have used every dirty trick he could.”

“That’s right, and he’d have taken as many as he could with him.” Sirius agreed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry lifted his head as Sirius gave him a gentle squeeze. “ _You_ are a Potter, the _last_ Potter. If someone comes after you, and I’m not there to protect you, and Clara or Dobby can’t get to you, I need to know that you’ll do _anything_ to keep yourself safe until I get there, is that understood?”

Harry nodded and licked his lips nervously before Sirius pulled him into a sudden, tight embrace, one hand at the base of his skull, his fingers threaded through his thick hair.

“There are dangerous people out there, Harry. Don’t get in the habit of playing by someone else’s rules, okay? When you step on that platform today, I need you to be that same boy I see sparring with Felix at Arpton.”

Harry nodded against Sirius’s doublet and wrapped his arms tightly around Sirius, squeezing for all he was worth. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Sirius murmured into his hair, and Harry’s eyes closed at the feeling of the gentle kiss to his crown.

“Isn’t all of this the opposite of what you were telling me at the start of summer, though?” He asked, blowing out a breath of air through his nose.

“It is, but things are different – there’s Dementors around the school for a reason, Harry; not that I agree with their placement, mind you. I just want you to be safe.”

Harry frowned, pressing his lips together tightly. “Does it have anything to do with Fenrir Greyback? And all those Aurors that got killed just before I came back? I saw the article about them in the _Prophet_.”

Sirius leaned back, a sharp look in his eye. “Where did you hear that name?” He demanded, cupping either side of his face.

He shrugged. “Ron Weasley said he overheard his dad talking about him. Is that why the Dementors are here?”

“You don’t need to worry why the Dementors are here, do you hear me? The only thing you should be asking yourself is how you’re doing on that last essay, who the prettiest witch is, and how to win in your duel.” Sirius said, pulling Harry back against his chest. “And I meant what I said, pup – if you’re ever in trouble, I’ll _always_ be there to rescue you, okay? You’re never alone.”

Harry gave Sirius another squeeze before pulling back, quickly clearing his throat and sniffing quietly. “You, uh – well, I – you’ve no idea how much I needed to hear that last bit after this weekend and, well, I understand, about the other stuff, I mean.”

“Sunday was tough on all of us. Did you spend it with Clara again? Can’t imagine she was too excited about staying in your room without kicking up a fuss over _something_.”

“No, I, uh – I spent the day with Hermione, actually.” He admitted, sheepishly.

“Ah, this is that whole jealousy thing again, right?”

“Kind of – I did something dumb.”

“Am I about to be proud and have to ground you, or angry and ground you?” Sirius asked, cocking an eyebrow, and folding his arms.

“Both?” Harry offered with a wince. “Anyway, what I did – _or didn’t_ – do aren’t important. What _is_ important is that, well, I might have cried like a baby onto her shoulder.”

“And?” Sirius frowned, cocking his head to the side.

“ _And it was embarrassing._ ” Harry hissed, darting a glance over his shoulder at the crowd where he saw Hermione, who was currently cheering on Tracey in her own duel, who was facing off against Hannah Abbott.

“You’re thirteen – every other sentence out of your mouth is going to be embarrassing; that’s called puberty. I went through it, Remus _definitely_ went through it, and so did your father. What did you cry about?”

“My parents.” He muttered, kicking the flagstone floor with the toe of his boot. “It just kind of… _happened_.”

“These things happen.” Sirius said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and beginning the slow walk back to the group. “You’re supposed to begin making your way through the fine ladies of Hogwarts – and if you mention to Amelia that I said that; I’ll deny it. Look, what I’m trying to say, in my own roundabout way, is that there are things that you’ll never do, because of the boy you are, and the man you’ll one day be; there are true horrors and tragedies in your life, Harry, and you’ve no idea my regret for my part in them.”

“You’ve not done anything wrong!” Harry said, quickly, as he came to a halt. His eyes darted to the much thinner group of students only a few metres away. “You’ve given me everything – _bollocks_ , you put your entire bloody life on hold until I left for Hogwarts!”

“And who was it that first took you to Arpton? Who pretended to be the Secret Keeper for your parents? Who was the one that suggested the _rat_?”

“None of that was your fault – besides, I wouldn’t have Clara if we hadn’t gone to Arpton. What’s a few nightmares compared to _that_?”

Sirius huffed and tightened his arm around his neck, drawing him closer. “You’re much too forgiving – that’s your mother in you, you know.”

Harry smiled, despite himself. “Probably.”

“Alright, come on – just remember what I’ve said, and pull your head out your arse, alright?”

“You first.” Harry grinned cheekily, ducking out of Sirius’s grip, and re-joining the crowd of students, each of them far too focused on Hermione and Susan’s duel; it was pretty evenly matched at first glance.

Hermione advanced a pace, flinging her arm out and sending a cerulean-coloured spell hurtling toward the Hufflepuff, who side-stepped and shot a pair of silver spells in retaliation. Hermione deflected the first, and ducked under the second, firing her next spell low, and her follow-up high.

Susan fell for the trap and caught Hermione’s spell in her gut as she hopped over the first. Harry winced as she was thrown back against the shield around the platform, the deep, gasping wheeze confirming she’d had the wind thoroughly knocked out of her.

The shield dropped quickly, and Sirius hurried up the steps and helped Susan to her feet, who nodded at both Sirius and Hermione, accepting her defeat gracefully. He watched as Hermione hurried down her own stairs and rushed to stand with the others – Daphne looked a little worse for wear, as did Neville; he’d have to find out the victor later.

“Mister Diggory, take your position, please.” Remus called, and the remaining Hufflepuffs cheered and hollered as Cedric smiled bashfully and hurried up the stairs two at a time.

“Mister Potter, you’ll be facing him.” Sirius called from where he was helping Susan sit down next to Daphne.

Murmurs broke out around him.

“Potter against Diggory? He trounced him last time – Potter won’t stand a chance!”

“My money’s on Diggory!”

“Rematch of the year!” Someone chuckled, and Harry felt his jaw clench and twitch.

He wasted no time, hurrying up the steps of the platform and flicking his wand into his waiting hand. In truth, the moment he’d caught sight of Cedric, he’d wanted another shot at him – he’d learned more spells and practiced the ones he already knew over the summer and felt reasonably confident about his chances.

“Go Harry!” Hermione called; her cry being followed up by the rest of his friends. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at them.

“You can do it, Potter!” Neville bellowed, and Harry found himself blushing a little at the ruckus. It was nice hearing it after the initial comments, though.

He focused his gaze back on Cedric across from him – he was taller than him by a head, and he knew from their games against Hufflepuff, he was extremely athletic. It was going to be tough, no matter what he came up with.

The two of them saluted simultaneously and bowed as one before retreating to either end of the platform and dropping into their ready positions. Around them, the silvery-white shield sprang into place, shimmering in the corners of his eye. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his fingers flexed on the Vinewood handle of his wand – his magic danced just beneath the surface of his skin, excited, _ready_.

“Begin!” Remus called, and immediately, Harry’s vision narrowed on the boy across from him. His magic rushed to answer his call, and he snapped a _Reducto_ off immediately, quickly followed by a _Bombarda_ , the two spells hurtling across the platform.

Cedric side-stepped the two of them, shooting a spell of his own at Harry. His eyes widened, and he barely managed to duck under it in time; it splashed against the shield behind him and sent him stumbling forward, gritting his teeth as his arms flailed in an attempt to keep himself upright.

Harry growled to himself, hissing a _Deprimo_ and flicking his wand – the movement wasn’t quite right, and he cursed under his breath as Cedric battled it aside with a _Custodi_ like it was nothing. A trio of angry, crimson _Stupefies_ were sent in return. Harry managed to defend against all three, the last sending him stumbling to the side, and his momentary joy turned to ash in his mouth as a fourth spell, a weak numbing one, caught him in the thigh and sent him sprawling to the platform.

He slammed his fist into the wood in frustration, his leg limp from the impact and slowly got back to his feet – Cedric had at least allowed him the chance to get back up, as precarious as it felt, hobbling around with a bum leg.

Harry’s _Protego_ was able to protect him from the next four spells Cedric threw at him, sending him stumbling back until his back was flush with the shield; he was beaten, that much was for sure, but he’d be _damned_ if he was going to lose so soundly.

A brilliant flash of light detonated a metre in front of him, and Harry threw his head to the side on reflex, slamming his eyes closed. A moment later, the light disappeared, and his eyes opened only long enough to recognise the crimson _Stupefy_ before it slammed, painfully, into his chest.

He didn’t know how long it took for him to be brought back around, but when he did, he tried not to scowl up at the ceiling, and the dark silhouetted faces hovering around the edges of his vision. The warm light high above made the backs of his eyes ache, and he resisted the urge to hiss and squirm under its intensity.

“Alright, he’s back with us – up you get, Harry.” Sirius said, hoisting him up into a sitting position. His head spun for a moment, and he violently crushed the instinct to throw up as his stomach roiled.

Harry shifted his legs, bringing his right knee up to his chest and tucking his left ankle behind it as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “ _Gods_ , what was I hit with?” He moaned, sighing as he gently pressed his forehead to his knee. It felt solid, reassuring, and decidedly _still_.

“ _Stupefy_.” Hermione’s voice offered – he figured that was her hand gently rubbing circles on his back. “You might feel out of it for a few minutes.”

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a Giant.” He murmured, closing his eyes, and basking in the relief that it brought.

“It’ll do that, I’m afraid.” Sirius sighed, patting his shoulder enough that his eyes were forced open again, if only so he could shoot an arm out to steady himself. “You held back again.”

“I did?” He grunted, feeling his forehead crease as he frowned. “I didn’t think I was.”

“Well, that’s what happened.” Sirius said. “Come on, you can wait over here until we’re done. Get your bearings back.”

Harry allowed Sirius to man-handle him to his feet and lead him to a bench along the wall of the large room. The bench itself was wooden, with a soft cushion on the top; it was far enough away from the wall that he could lean back against it without sitting up ramrod straight. He felt people settle either side of him.

He glanced to his right, and saw Daphne and Neville, both looking pale and worse for wear – absently, Harry noticed Daphne’s uniform had a cut on her shoulder, the visible skin beneath looked pink. Neville’s doing in their duel, no doubt.

Hermione and Tracey were on his left; Tracey looked just as tired but looked mostly like she always did – no doubt her duel hadn’t been as trying as Neville and Daphne’s. Hermione looked the most put-together out of them all, with nary a hair out of place, though her cheeks were a little pink and flush.

Sirius left them to it and made his way back to the rest of the students.

“How long was I out?” He asked, leaning against the stone bricks behind him. They were cool.

“Only for a few minutes. Only two or three duels left to go before we go and get some food.” Tracey offered. “You lasted longer than you had any right to, Harry.”

“I lost.”

“You did, but that was always what was going to happen.” Daphne shrugged. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Harry – Cedric’s _years_ ahead of us, of course he was going to win. The only thing that told you otherwise was your ego.” She huffed, levelling him with a look.

“I don’t have an ego!” He said quickly, scowling at his friend and folding his arms across his chest as he turned to stare at the platform.

Neville snorted to his side, and Harry snapped his eyes to him, glaring. “What?” Neville asked, holding up both of his hands. “Gran says _everyone_ has an ego.”

“Yeah, _well I don’t_.” He hissed, sweeping his gaze across each of his friends.

“It’s alright, if you want to be moody and pout about it, we’ll let you, but I’m not sitting here and listening to it. Frankly, I’m tired, sore, and hungry.” Tracey huffed, getting to her feet quickly and walking back to the rest of the students huddled around the platform. Daphne and Neville followed, though the boy offered a pat on the shoulder as he got to his feet.

“What did you think was going to happen, Harry?” Hermione asked, quietly, both her knees bouncing, and her hands tucked under her thighs.

“ _I don’t know_!” He snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “I don’t mind losing, but that… _that_ was just _embarrassing_.”

“Oh.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean? It means ‘ _oh_ ’.”

“That’s not what it sounded like.”

“Does it have to sound like anything?”

“It usually does, so what does it mean?”

“It means that I know why you’ve been avoiding me since the weekend. You’ve been embarrassed. Which is _stupid_ , by the way – I’ve been thinking it was something _I_ did! Do you have _any_ idea how worried I’ve been?”

Harry was quiet, his jaw jutting out stubbornly as he glared at the floor. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hermione huffed, and he didn’t need to look at her to know she’d rolled her eyes. “I don’t? Okay then. Well, if it’s any consolation to your wounded, masculine pride, I thought what I saw on that cliff was incredibly brave – endearing, even.”

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Why I-“ He stopped himself, and breathed out through his nose angrily, turning his head away. “And now _this_.”

“You lost a duel, Harry – it’s not the end of the world. Daphne lost hers, and you don’t see her being mardy about it; and before you say anything, that’s what you’re being right now. This isn’t the Harry Potter _I_ know.” She said, holding up a hand as he turned to retort. He snapped his mouth closed with a click and shifted on the bench.

“It’s just-“

“I can imagine; but _don’t_ lash out because you’re having a strop.” Hermione said, getting to her feet and brushing down her skirt. She turned to face him; her hands clasped before her as she looked down at him – he winced against the floating chandeliers in the ceiling. “Now, I’m going to join the others, and when this is over, I quite expect you to have gotten over _this_.”

“Fine.” He muttered, nodding shortly. He watched her leave and scowled to himself. He wasn’t pouting because of anything she’d said – _Merlin_ , he wasn’t even pouting!

He was _pissed_.

In truth, he’d thought he had a chance against Cedric – he’d heard what the people around him had muttered to one another after his name had been called, and he’d wanted to prove them wrong. He had wanted to _show_ them what he could do, and, instead, he’d been laid out on his arse and Cedric hadn’t even broken a sweat.

What good was all the training that he’d done over the years if he had nothing to show for it? What good was the training Felix had given him if he’d not been able to defend against a few stunning spells against someone only a few years older than himself? What good was it, knowing what he did if, the _next_ time he got caught in an ambush, he ended up just like-

The smell of spell-fire, the screams of the wounded, the ringing in his ears, the warm spray of blood on his face, and the rancid stench of death. An eye, empty and staring at him lifelessly.

He breathed in sharply, his teeth grinding together as his fists clenched – further down the wall, an unoccupied bench imploded. He paid it no mind and stared at the flagstone floor. His magic ran along his skin, his nerve-endings dancing with the energy that coursed through him; it swirled and contorted beneath the surface, its nebulous form straining at the chains he held it under.

Harry would _never_ be that helpless, _never_ go down as easily as he had against Cedric – he was a _Potter_ , a _fighter_. His parents had fought until the bitter end, and if it came down to it, he’d fight hard enough for both of them; he’d never be so helpless, so incompetent as he had been against Diggor-

“Harry.” Remus murmured, gripping his shoulder, and shaking him lightly. His other hand cupped his cheek, and Harry found his eyes meeting the amber ones of his favourite Werewolf. “Come back to us, Harry.”

“Moony?” He asked, blinking as he looked over his shoulder at the rest of the room – most of the room was empty, with only a handful of students left, all meandering out of the door. His friends lingered on the far side of the room, glancing at him uncertainly as they looked at one another and back to him.

“Back with us, I see.” Remus smiled, offering him a piece of chocolate, which he took thankfully. He breathed out through his nose as it began to melt on his tongue – _Honeydukes_. “Had us a little worried for a minute there; what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He muttered, dropping the man’s gaze.

“I’m afraid you might need to – you totalled a bench, you see.”

“I think I heard it.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Can I just go to bed? I’m tired, and I just-“

Remus nodded sympathetically and patted his arm gently. “Alright then, come on, lets get your cloak and I’ll have Neville and Hermione-“

“No, I… I want to be alone.” He murmured, getting to his feet. “I-“ He said, the words catching in his throat. “I’ve just been a bit of an idiot, but-“

“I understand – more than you probably realise.”

Harry nodded, silently, and was just about to call for Dobby when Sirius appeared before him, his face stormy. He looked every inch the Lord of House Black. “Harry’s not leaving just yet – he has one more duel.”

“One more – Sirius, everyone’s _gone_.” Remus answered him, sweeping an arm at the empty room. “Who’s he going to duel? Besides, don’t you think, if you find someone for him to duel in the first place, that it’d be better suited for when he’s in a better frame of mind?”

“He won’t be duelling a student. He’s duelling me.” Sirius said, simply. “Harry – duelling platform, _now_.”

Harry’s legs moved on reflex – there were very few times Sirius used that tone of voice with him; in fact, he could count exactly how many on a single hand. His wand, it seemed, had been placed in the holster on his forearm, for when he flicked his wrist, it slapped into his palm.

He looked around the room wearily; Neville, Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey were lingering, all confused and slowly moving toward the platform, and Sirius hopped up onto the platform from the floor, bypassing the stairs completely.

With a flick of his wrist, the shield sprang up around them, and Sirius looked at him, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, spreading his arms. “Isn’t it bad enough you had me get trounced by Diggory in front of everyone? Do you really need to lay me out yourself?”

“I’m not going to fight back – you’re going to get whatever it is off your chest, and then you’re going to have a hard think about what I said to you earlier.” Sirius said, voice even.

“I listened to what you said – you think I _meant_ to hold back?” Harry snapped, glaring at the man across from him. “And what? You’re going to just stand there and take it?”

Sirius shrugged. “You won’t hit me – _that_ much, I can promise you.”

Harry huffed and through his arms in the air and turned around. “I’m not doing this – it’s stupid, and a-“

He was cut off as a spell slammed into his shoulder from behind. A _Stinging Hex_ , no harder than a punch that made him stumble a step. On instinct, Harry spun with the blow and fired a pair of spells, one low, and one high in return.

Only when he realised he’d shot the spells at Sirius did he take a moment to realise just what he’d done. Sirius batted them aside, his eyes remaining entirely fixed on him the entire time. “Sirius, I’m _not_ doing this.”

“Of course you are.” Sirius said, his fingers flexing on the handle of his wand. “Because the only way you get out of here, is by me letting you out.”

“I’m not in the mood, Sirius.”

“Really? Because you seem to be in a fairly pouty one this evening.” Sirius replied, shrugging his shoulders easily.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a pretty shit week, alright?” Harry snapped, his magic roiling under the surface once again. He rubbed his hand against his forehead as he winced, his magic rose up, straining his magic to its limit.

“We all have them, Harry. You didn’t listen to me before, but you’re _definitely_ going to listen to me now.”

“ _Let me out_.” Harry growled, against his better judgement.

“Only if you make me.”

Harry stomped forward, his wand jabbing forward as spell-fire shot from the tip in brilliant lances of colour. There was no technique or timing – he just wanted Sirius to shut his mouth.

His lips curled into a snarl as Sirius batted each one aside, and Harry drew more consciously on the power coursing through his veins; he didn’t care what spell he threw; he was determined to prove to Sirius, and to himself, that he could make the older man shut up.

Sirius smacked each spell aside like it was nothing, his _Protegos_ sending them careening off in every direction, splashing against the shimmering silver shield all around them. One spell, _Eviulsis_ , which zipped toward Sirius with frightening alacrity, made the entire room tremble viciously as it collided with the shield, washing over the impact area with a wave of purple-white light.

“Come on, Harry – you can do better than that!”

Harry clenched his teeth together, his jaw spasming as his hand tightened around the handle of his wand. His extremities tingled with barely contained magic, and he tossed another spell at Sirius; the _Diffindo_ hurtling toward his Godfather and leaving the tell-tale stench of burned ozone in its wake.

In an instant, he was no longer on the platform with Sirius – he was on that cobbled road, surrounded by fallen guards and bandits on both sides. He blinked the sting of the smoke from his eyes and stumbled forward a step, coughing, and barely keeping himself from gagging as his foot crushed a House Guard’s spilled intestine with a sickening squelch.

He looked up, beyond the small field of corpses, for not a single one moved, and felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of Quirrell, the purple-robed man sneering at him, his wand in his hand and pointed at the floor, as if he were no threat at all.

Harry’s rage exploded, and his magic roared its answer – trails of pure, visible magic danced along his skin as he jabbed his wand at the man, a cyan lance of magic screamed across the distance separating the two of them, Quirrell batted it aside, sending it careening into a nearby tree. It exploded into a thousand shards of splintered wood before toppling over with enough force to rock the very ground beneath his feet.

Quirrell laughed, though there was no humour to it.

“ _Shut up_!” Harry yelled, his chest felt tight, and constricted. The memory of Quirrell’s cold skin against his throat bubbled up in his mind. “ _Fight back_!” He screamed, throwing another curse, this one detonating at Quirrell’s feet, though he didn’t look like he’d so much as stumbled.

Another spell left the tip of his wand, this one a sickening yellow. It screamed towards Quirrell, and the wizard batted that one aside too. Quirrell laughed.

“I can fight you!” Harry bellowed, his magic roaring to the surface again. “Don’t you take me for a threat, you _coward_? _Fight me_!” An angry crimson lance sped across the distance between the two of them, and Harry took the opportunity to sprint forward, his legs pumping as he rushed to close the distance.

Quirrell slapped the spell aside and finally levelled his wand at Harry, the evil, malevolent glint in his eye coupled with that self-satisfied smile bringing him to a screeching halt as he tried to bring his wand up in front of him.

He wasn’t sure what spell had left Quirrell’s wand, but whatever it was, blew him cleanly off of his feet, sending him head-over-heel through the air until he landed in a heap. He’d expected to feel the crunching of his bones, or at least the solidness of the cobblestone beneath him, perhaps even the wetness of all of the blood that had been pooled all around him, but instead, he felt the softness of wood.

Gone was the smell of burned ozone, and the stench of death. Instead, in its place, was the earthy smell of varnished wood, and a cold, cool, crispness that was unique to the Scottish Highlands. He opened his eyes with a wince and was greeted with the familiar sight of the ceiling of the duelling club’s building.

He groaned as he rolled onto his side, forcing his screaming muscles into pushing his arms and knees beneath him as he glanced about. He was no longer on that cobbled road; he was on the duelling platform, a sweating Sirius on his knees across from him, panting heavily with his hands on his thighs. He vaguely recognised Sirius’s wand, laying on the platform before him, the tip smoking lightly.

A pair of hands appeared before him, and he struggled to focus his eyes on the face that appeared before him – it was Hermione, he realised, after a moment. He blinked slowly and fell backwards, exhausted, only her hands, gripping his biceps through his damp tunic kept him from falling on his back.

Other faces appeared around him – he recognised Neville, Daphne, and Tracey, but there were others, too; Susan was there, Apollo Fiz, from Ravenclaw, and the pretty Veela, Celeste – he recognised the twins, Fred and George, and the straight blonde hair of Hannah Abbott next to the dark hair of Lilith Kullens.

“ _Merlin’s hairy bollocks_ , Harry!” Fred whispered, or was that George? It was hard to tell, the way the world would drop in and out of focus.

“Damn near brought the building down!” The other one, whoever it really was, said.

“You alright Potter?” Apollo asked, a kind look on his face. Harry nodded, confused as he panted. He looked at Hermione, who was looking at him with a strange expression, her eyes wide.

“Come on, get him on his feet.” Someone else said – the voice was familiar, kind, and charismatic. Cedric’s face appeared before him, and before he knew it, the older Hufflepuff was lifting him, one arm draped over his shoulder as he brought Harry to his feet.

His stomach rolled, and Harry had a hard time keeping whatever was left in his stomach actually inside him, and not over the shoes of everyone around him. He looked to Sirius, who had gotten to his feet, and looked to be much better than he had been only a few seconds before. Remus was at his side, his wand waving back and forth as he performed some spell or another.

Harry let his arm return to his side as he stumbled out of Cedric’s grip. His legs felt weak, like they were made of nothing but jelly – he needed to get to Sirius first, however – he could rest his legs after.

It took more concentration than he thought he could muster, and the part of his chest that had been struck by Quirrell’s spell was still sore, a dull ache in the back of his mind. Behind him, only separated by a few paces at most, were the rest of the students, the ones whose names and faces had come to him in the brief time they’d been huddled around him.

When he finally closed the gap between himself and Sirius, he felt his legs give out. He’d expected to end up on the mat of the platform again and was surprised to feel his Godfather’s arms catch him around his chest. He closed his eyes, their lead weight finally overcoming what little reserves he had left.

“I’ve got you, pup.” He heard Sirius murmur as he eased the two of them down to the mat. “You’re only tired. Sleep – I’ve got you.”


End file.
